


Times that Count

by GrayArcadian



Series: Begin Again [1]
Category: Logan's Run (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Closeted Character, Complete, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Gen, Gray-Asexuality, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24122131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayArcadian/pseuds/GrayArcadian
Summary: A short series of flashbacks in Logan's life before running ranging from Nursery to the opening episode.  We see Logan questioning Carousel less than 5 minutes in.  We also have Jessica noting the Underground had been observing Logan for some time.  Well, what did they see?  What made him question?The usual disclaimers:  William Nolan owns this and is a very nice man whom I wish to honor with this work.  (And much love and respect to the late Mr. George Clayton-Johnson.) Ted Turner seems to own the 70's series and I thank him for putting reruns on TV when I was the right age to have this all capture my imagination.  Like many of the things I love, it was gone too soon and what was there could have used a sight overhaul despite some solid talent, good ideas, and dedicated people. If you like my Trek work, there is Trek *all over* this series and you should read this and go watch it.
Relationships: Francis 7/Logan 5 (Logan's Run), Jessica 6/Logan 5 (Logan's Run), Logan/Sheila
Series: Begin Again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740505
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Ten

His first memory was of glass, of being sealed in, and wanting so badly to be out.

“Logan 5,” the soothing computer voice of Mother, admonished him in her disembodied voice. “Step away from the glass.”

He felt angry. He didn’t want to move!

“Logan 5, step away from the glass,” Mother repeated herself.

“No!” It was a powerful word. It made adults stop. If used with his fists, it made the other Sandmen leave him alone. There were other words with power he was discovering: Sandman. Red. Fear.

There were others outside. They peered in on him. Most looked in awe. Some giggled and made funny faces. He liked those.

But he saw this one man in the back. He was dressed in Red, with dark eyes similar to his own, and an athletic build just staring at him. He met the man’s gaze unafraid. Sandman were not afraid of anything and he was born to be one.

Then he watched the older Sandmen, the one he was going to become, take a hold of him. At first, it was his elbows. When he shook those off, they took his shoulders. When he tried to run away, they shot at him. The other Sandmen crowded around him shoving him away from the glass.

He wasn’t sure what happened to the crowd or the man. Mother only offered one warning before punishment after that.


	2. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandman training. Logan and Francis are Yellow, about ages 9-12.

“Today, we have a special competition!”

Logan stood at attention. Three months ago he and the 19 others from Nursery #2 were introduced to a new word: Supervisor. He couldn’t pronounce it very well, but he knew what it was. 

“No stun settings or entangle settings. Homer or explosion only.”

They were the old ones. The Sandmen who were biggest and strongest and who spent their last year making them big and strong before being renewed.

They were one-for-one. The natural order of things. He wasn’t sure what those words meant, but they were powerful. They were part of the orders. Orders were rules for Sandmen, and Sandmen kept the rules for the City.  
  
“You will be in teams.”   
  
Excitement buzzed through the unit. Something new! Something besides the Omnite training that first made the group fight each other one-on-one and then two-on-one, then three...Logan had done his best to hide his fear during these fights but feared he hadn’t enough to please the Supervisors. 

Two regular Sandmen carried the third man in - a Red - and Logan could smell his blood and urine. The civilian's head lolled back and forth like a broken machine. He couldn’t help to watch in morbid fascination as they pinned and shackled the man to the same wall they had been pinned to earlier in training in order to be beaten - to get them used to pain.

Logan knew this man wasn’t used to pain. He must have done something horrible, but he found himself wanting to just get the old man out of there. Pain was for Sandmen, not civilians. It didn’t feel that great for him either.

“Rack him up!” shouted Francis, half in his ear, excited for the rite of passage. It then dawned on Logan what he and the other were going to be asked to do.

The Sandmen put something under his nose. Probably Muscle. The stimulant was dangerous, even deadly, to the older ones. He wasn’t going to be living long though. The man’s eyes snapped open, pupils dilating from fear and the stimulant. He stood before the squad of children, scanning their faces as the Supervisor continued to orate.

“This is a live-fire targeting exercise. The first team who kills the target ends the competition and takes a negative 100 points. Shooting non-vital parts is worth negative 20 points. Shooting within 25 millimeters is worth 100 with every 10 millimeters away from that being 10 less. So a 45-millimeter shot is worth 80 points and so on. Your team scores will be displayed here."

He didn’t know the beating wall had a scoreboard.

“Kara 3 and Jamal 9 and Logan 5 and Francis 7. You’re up first. The rest of you shouldn’t worry. We have more where this traitor came from.”  
  
The other three children looked to each other excitedly. Logan could only make himself take his gun out of the holster and slowly calibrate it. _You knew Sandmen kill._ He told himself. _This man betrayed the City of Domes. You were born to defend it. Sandmen do not question. A Sandman who questions the order of things dies. Worse, he fails the City. You are a Sandman. You do not fail._

He let some part of himself drop back. Francis noticed, but assumed a different reason.  
  
“You’re the best shot here. Stop worrying about winning. We have this.”

“Sure, Francis. It’s just another game that we’re going to win.”

Kara and Jamal fired. Kara’s shot was just to the left of his elbow and the man screamed and flinched away as much as his bonds let him. Jamal’s went wide, well away from his head, but he must have seen the flash. Francis fired and came so close he scorched the man’s pant leg, but didn’t hit him. Logan aimed and missed his neck by 10 millimeters.

One shot to just inside the shin. Next shot above the ear. One outside the belt. One so close to his scalp he screamed from the burn. Next shot removed two fingers. The shot after that went wild. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four...Shots dropped like spray from a fountain. The man stopped screaming. Somehow, the certainty of an end acted like a homer burning out his fear. The damage to his body would have made him unconscious if not for what Logan was now sure was Muscle. He closed his eyes and started to hyperventilate.   
  
“Full fire!” barked the Supervisor.

The four children increased their fire rate with Logan still aiming carefully. Finally, someone missed. The gut shot burned a hole through the man to the wall. Logan watched as the man’s muscle tone left him and a rattle of death filled the Nursery. His eyes looked somehow false, like glass marbles more than a human’s unfocused eyes.  
  
“Final score: Team One: 1080 points. Team Two, 1310. Good job.”

Francis scowled. “We could have gotten higher.”  
  
It then occurred to Logan why they had to wrap up the game. “They put him on Muscle and he was trying to kill himself before we did.”

Francis shrugged it off. “We didn’t have to kill him. We were just shooting at him.”

“We will have to soon.”

The Supervisor barked at them to be quiet while they took the man’s body away and brought in a woman this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are here from Facebook, welcome. My usual blog is here: https://grayarcadian.dreamwidth.org/ I have been allowing anonymous comments, but OpenID has gotten quirky with the recent update.
> 
> It's been weird finding other fans of the show after all this. I honestly expected zero hits on this story, which is fine. I do this for me. I'm glad though I'm able to make a few other people happy.
> 
> Special thanks to Dale Popel of the World of Logan's Run fan board on FB for his encouragement and for giving me material for more works in this setting.


	3. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan the Rookie at age 14 or 15. I had to headcanon a lot about how Sandman training and hierarchy worked in the TV show version of things. I also had to figure out why Logan is such a mess at something else on the show despite a great deal of confidence and ability elsewhere. Hopefully, this helps.

They had to act fast!

“Zoe 10 reporting. We are leaving the domestic dispute reported at 2213. Logan and I have an unverified report of a Runner leaving Quadrant 4, identified as William 3.”

“Acknowledged.”

Logan looked to his trainer as they got into the ground car. “Why did you say it was unverified? We have George’s word that he Ran.”

Zoe checked her gun as the maze car shot them along the track. “Because they just had a fight. George could be lying.”

“Why would he lie?” Logan asked. “Didn’t George say they loved?”

Zoe exhaled a growling breath. “That’s why he might be lying. Lovers are delusional, Logan. Trouble in every way.”

Logan had so many questions crowding around in his mind to ask he couldn’t settle on one. Of all the pleasure the newly open to him City had to offer, a lover was the one he was the most curious about. He’d been drawn to stories about knights and maidens in Nursery and historical tales of activist lovers working side by side leading up to the last nuclear war; their passion and youth inspiring the City of Domes. Some of his fellow Sandman started talking openly about men or women or both. He yearned for the epic, the adventure story, and the fairy tale. 

Zoe’s words sent a javelin flying through his hopes and he wasn’t sure where it was going to land. It might be easy to ignore except that he halfway worshipped her. Zoe never let up. As his Trainer, she was constantly testing his powers of observation and assumptions. She demanded he stick with her and learn - how to watch people, where there were service tunnels Runners thought they could hide in, how to spot a problem drunk in a crowd. Other Sandman his age had Trainers who allowed them to go to the Love Shop or browse the Arcade. Not Zoe. She even demanded that he go to bed on time and wake up with an alarm.

He loved her for it. He loved the attention and a chance to stand out to someone all on his own. Her focused attention and faith in his abilities made him feel special and smart. He had good ideas, but she was always right. was the final stage of training before becoming a full Sandman. Six months was a long time with someone, but it didn’t feel like he’d learn everything Zoe had to teach him in a whole 30 years. 

“We have eyes on William 3.”

Zoe flipped on her communicator. “Roger, control. Heading?”

“West, into the 3rd quadrant. Section C.”

He felt the maze car’s inertial dampeners flip off as it began to slow itself to under 100 kilometers per hour. He realized his heart was pounding. It felt as if the car had crawled to a stop.

“This might be your first Runner. Ready?”

Logan remembered the glass-eyed man. Not a Runner. A prisoner. He blinked it away. “Let’s go!”

“Don’t shoot until I say, got it? William 3 and George 7 had a fight. He might not be trying to leave. He might just be trying to get away from George 7.”

Again, Logan was confused, but he nodded to Zoe.

This part quadrant was for Cubs. Some children were bad to have in Nursery he was told. If they couldn’t get along or if they proved too much trouble Cub Zones were the next stop. If they made it to Green they could leave. A Sandman would find and escort them out of the zone and into the City. Zoe hadn’t ever had that call or knew of anyone who had had that call, but he couldn’t believe the City would just let a full adult linger in there.

“Careful in here,” she warned. “You might be their age, but that uniform marks you different.”

He nodded and followed.

The Cub Zone was a maze of broken equipment made into barricades and of leftover parts wired together to create tools and weapons. Mostly he heard the residents more than saw them, scurrying like the rats he’d seen in the back corridors. Whispers and eyes followed him and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck shoot him warnings of unknown origin. The whole place smelled of industrial lubricant and stagnant water. And somewhere in here, William was trying to hide his adult body among children. It disgusted Logan. 

Zoe slid through the debris as if on wheels. Logan’s shorter legs made it harder to keep up in places while deeper into the Zone, the tight passageways favored Logan’s not yet grown body. Patches of clothing and drops of blood marked the passage of their quarry.

Finally, as they moved around one corner, they came upon the sight of four Cubs, dressed in Nursery Yellow, surrounding William. Two had knives crudely fashioned from metal. 

“Stand down!” shouted Zoe, pointing her gun at the strongest child. “We are DS Operatives and we are here to collect the civilian and bring him out of your territory. No harm will come to you if you part now.”

The biggest child smiled. “Nice box. I see?”

Logan was about to say ‘no,’ when Zoe unclipped it and tossed it over without issue. The children took it, nodded, and dispersed. Zoe visibly breathed a sigh of relief, but the relief gave away back to the steely face of duty. “Get up,” she ordered William.

William 3 looked at the pair bewilderedly. Slowly, he got to his feet, making sure to keep his hands visible.

“You’re lucky,” Logan announced. “George was worried about you. He wants you to join Carousel. To Renew.”

William grimaced but said nothing.

Zoe assessed his ability to move with her eyes. She was teaching Logan how to do that. William wasn’t favoring either leg or foot. The cuts and scrapes were mostly superficial except for a deeper one which sent blood dripping slowly from the upper right arm down his elbow and his wrist. Not enough to slow someone walking back.  
  
She put away her gun. “Take my hand. We’re going home.”

William took it and she turned to Logan. “You cover us. Got it?” Logan nodded and started back. Only once on the return did they see more Cubs eyeing them hungrily, but a look at Logan’s blaster made them feel it wasn’t worth the effort. 

They were almost at the exit when all of a sudden William tried letting go of Zoe. Zoe held fast and William lashed out with a wild fist. He got lucky and it stunned Zoe enough to break her grip. He ran back towards the Zone.

Logan smelled the blast of the Homer before it registered to him that he’d fired it. William wailed once and fell with a smoking hole in his torso.

It wasn’t like before with the other man on the wall. He knew he’d missed then even if it led to his death. This kill was all him. His first Runner. He should be proud. He should be -

The smell of charred flesh hit him. He felt his stomach heave and give way in front of Zoe and he never felt more humiliated. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The anti-nausea treatment worked quickly, leaving him with ravenous hunger as a side effect even though the last thing he wanted to do was eat. Zoe called in the body for disposal and then, finally, took him to the Arcade to a surprisingly quiet ice cream shop.

She’d ordered for him - something large with bananas. She got a small scoop of chocolate for herself. Silence moved between them as she ate alone until hunger overcame Logan and he dived into the treat.

“That gets easier,” she noted, shattering the silence. “But it should never be easy.”

“I didn’t expect you to say that,” he confided to his ice cream.

“Some Sandmen love the sport. Nothing wrong with that. But if you’re going to be the best, you'll find out there’s a lot you can solve without killing. Not everything. Maybe not even half the things in a day, but shooting doesn’t make a Sandman great.”

He felt like crying, but he wasn’t going to let Zoe down like that. “What does?”

“Always take your gun home and maintain it yourself.”

“But there are techs for that.”

She waved one of her brown hands. “Techs have hangovers or want to go see someone after work. Your weapon is your life and a working gun makes for a clean kill. Always put it in your own hands.”

“So don’t trust the techs.”

She cut him off. “Did I say that? No. No, I did not. Respect the techs. You get better support that way. Just keep what’s critical to you close. Control what you can.”

Her ice cream began to drip on the table as her eyes became unfocused. “It never gets easier. There are good days. There are bad days. There are no easy days.” She took a quick spoonful of ice cream and swallowed it so fast, Logan was sure she didn’t taste any of it.

“Next thing to remember? You’re doing it now, and while you think you’re doing a bad job, it’s not a bad first try.”

“Okay.” He dared to look up and saw Zoe’s eyes held a strange kind of weary sympathy while not fully understanding her meaning.

“You _are_ the City. Sandmen are the City and the City are Sandmen. Civilians are allowed to sleep at night and live in freedom until Renewal because you make it happen. You always have to be bigger and smarter. More in control.”

Logan nodded. He’d try to be up for that, if not for himself, then for the City.

“But then there’s the biggest rule. You break this one and you might as well not be a Sandman.” Logan waited with bated breath. “Only other Sandmen count. Your partner, like your gun, is your life. They'll count for more than -” She stopped. “What does your body want to make love to?” she asked him. “Boys, girls, or both?”  
  
Logan felt on the spot. “I haven’t really thought about which,” he muttered, feeling this creeping warmth crawl up his neck and onto his face. After the earlier problems in the day and Zoe’s comments, he wasn’t going to get into any sort of ideas he had about romance.

“What?” Zoe was completely taken aback.

“I…” he shrugged, tugging at his black, wavy hair. “Girls I guess.”

“Guess?” she looked at him dubiously. Then she shook her head and sighed. “Find out. Dial the Circuit. It’s better than the Shops. Get it out of your system,” she ordered. “Sooner you figure out how to keep that part of your life managed the better,” she huffed into her bowl of half-melted slurry.

He was quiet for a long time. Sure, he’d thought about the Circuit or the Love Shops, but his interest in going always came back to a kind of inner shrug. No one was attractive. He thought all Sandmen were like this. That it made the job easier. _Guess not._

The silence weighed down the space in between them. “So why am I giving you this order, Cadet?”

Logan bristled. He just knew whatever he came up with, it wasn’t going to be the right thing. He also knew better than to just shrug to Zoe. They both knew he was smarter than that. He settled on repeating Zoe had just said. “Because I need to control what I can. That's why you didn't like those two earlier. They made something simple a mess and got us involved.” He blinked and saw his ice cream was gone. He barely remembered having any.

Her lip twitched ever so slightly. “See? You are good at this. Listening to people and reading them makes you good.”

“How can people make me lose control? It’s just love.”

Zoe blew out a breath. “Oh, love’s easy. Remember that Domestic call though? That’s what you want to avoid.”

“Fighting with a lover?”

“Caring enough to fight with anyone. Even your Sandman partner because things happen and what you are is always going to be more than who you are to everyone. Remember, you are a symbol of all that is good and right in the last of human civilization. No one is ever going to want Logan 5. Everyone wants a little love from a Sandman. It’s them giving back to the City, so you don't get to turn it down. That’s why the Circuit is better until you get a name for yourself. Let them give you some time away from everyone else, feel good about it, and then get them going.” 

“What happens if they stay?”  
  
“Guaranteed diminishing returns,” Zoe spat. “It’s all fun until they know you or have you. Once the people who need you know you’re not some superhuman, they’ll never want you. If they stay with you after you love them, they’ll just resent it. It’s the nature of people.”

Logan frowned. “What are ‘diminishing returns?’”  
  
Zoe sighed. “The more someone thinks they need you, the less they will after they get what they want.” She finally put her coal dark eyes back on him. “Life is too short, and your mission is too important. It’s like the gun.”

“Control what I can?” Then he added because he thought it might impress Zoe. "And maybe William wouldn't have run is he hadn't fought with George about it."

She reached over the table and tousled his hair. “Good memory, Cadet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So why be hot and heavy with Sheila to the point of joking "weak in the knees," and not care about her or anyone when it's clear Jess was allowed and indulged in feelings to spare? Why did we not see a kiss until episode 13 or 14 depending on how you count the first kiss? Also, why does Logan compulsively hold Jessica's hand but doesn't touch her while kissing? This is all especially true when you understand just how oversexed the setting is.
> 
> Only thing I can think of? A combination of factors seen here on display. Your mileage may vary.


	4. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven and Six are two parts of the same story.
> 
> Logan first case with Francis. The pair have been singled out by a strange group who are bored with life and Renewal both has killed to "release," others from it. Logan and Francis go undercover as regular workers in the section to hopefully spy them and stop them before another attack. After a week in though, a meeting with a possible suspect turns previously held notions on their head. 
> 
> This one is dedicated to Jon McGarrah after our discussion about het blinders.

When the call came in early on his day off, he had to put his very human fatigue and irritation aside. _You are the City. The City is you._ He pressed the button on his terminal link. “Logan 5, reporting.”

Each time, he hoped the Supervisor would be Zoe, but he knew better. Sure enough, it was Supervisor 4. “We have a special briefing for you, Logan 5. Report to Central.”

Special briefings were never good news. “Acknowledged. On my way.”

After he snapped together his uniform, he ran a hand through his wavy hair, hoping Central would find it suitable. His countenance must have been dark because civilians parted at the sight of him, and he ended up having a tram car all to himself. Such were the perks of being a representative of what kept the last humans from barbarism, he supposed.

When he got to the base, he recognized several of the faces on duty. Alex 10 was there with Benjamin, his recently assigned cadet Nursery. Strong was manning communications, and he waved at Logan without splitting much of his attention. The Supervisor’s door was closed and locked when he got there, and another familiar face was standing outside, arms crossed. His resting face, Logan had noticed back in Nursery, appeared perpetually unsatisfied. When he noticed Logan’s approach, his lips twitched up in a grin.

“This one must have some big excitement then!” Francis 7 heralded his old Nursery-mate, Logan 5.

Logan knew he should have been thrilled. He’s known Francis 7 since he could remember. The other boys in Nursery feared their team-ups in competition, so it rarely occurred. Talent was to be spread around. He’d even call him a friend. Sandmen were supposed to stay professional, at least while working, but they overlooked so much Logan began to wonder if a certain amount of closeness was encouraged. But if the competition counted? It always came down to him and Francis.

But they hadn’t seen each other since the computers of the City had coded their access Blue; their final days before becoming cadets. Based on Francis’ stance, whatever edge they’d held when they were young hadn’t dulled into their late teen maturity. Far from it.

“They’re teaming us up?” Sandmen were not normally supposed to get permanent partners from the same Nursery until the end of their first full Green year. Both he and Francis had only recently passed that age border between Blue and Green. Between their time as Cadets and being assigned someone they knew from childhood, DS Operatives had rotating partners so as to get to know the others guarding the City. 

“Special challenges call for special measures, I guess,” Francis noted with a note of false modesty. Then he snorted with a mild laugh. “Wrong side of the bed this morning?”

“Why?”

“Turn around.” 

Logan obeyed, and Francis started to unsnap the fasteners on his uniform down to his mid-back. As he began snapping them back into place, Logan felt his uniform take on a more comfortable shape.

“That’s why. You missed one. Can’t meet a Supervisor like that.”

Logan grinned sheepishly. “You’re right. We are the City.”

“And you shouldn’t be trying to emulate Section C.”

Logan’s reply was cut off by the door sliding open. Supervisor 4 didn’t look much better than Section C himself. Zoe had drilled him on the telltale signs of substance use, and Supervisor 4’s office had the tang of sweat that was laced with the metallic scent of long-term Zap consumption. Dark circles run under his russet eyes as they poured over a marked city map on display in front of him. Lost in thought, he didn’t acknowledge the pair of younger officers for what seemed like decades, and when he did speak, his voice was so low and monotone, it nearly melted into the computer banks in front of him. “Information about your assignment does not leave this room.”

“Understood.” Logan noticed Francis was standing at attention while he’d been trying to see Supervisor 4’s eyes to check for an overdose. He inwardly chided himself for such a foolish thought as a senior DS Operative misusing a stimulant and mirrored Francis.

With a few taps of his screen, another image appeared. It was a display of the Heart of the City. There was Carousel and the multi-layered shops and services of Arcade. He tapped another button. The screen shifted to the left. Construction robots flooded five levels of living quarters. Logan estimated there had to have been at least 60 units in the dormitory section being worked on.

“That construction wasn’t up there 4 days ago,” Francis stated. “I was there on patrol.”

“Two days ago there was a gas leak in this area. That’s true, but it wasn’t an accidental malfunction.” He passed a datapad to Logan. “This was on one of the bodies,” he paused. “That of Zoe 10.”

Logan felt the life drain from his face. He did his best to keep any tremors out of his hand when he picked up the datapad.

Zoe had gone onto her Last Year duty - training the new batch of DS Operatives on Level 2. He’d had nightmares about Zoe chaining people to walls and ordering him to shoot. There was no convincing him it was a dream. It would be the reality. With maturity and full duty privileges, he’d learned those taken to Level 2 were the worst criminals the City had to offer - murderers, seditionists, and rapists mostly. Occasionally, the Computer’s Justice program would single out another type of criminal for the sentence of “training,” but it was rare enough Logan’s captures hadn’t drawn that sentence. _Yet._ The voice in his head kept after him about that.

“Was she the target, then?” he asked without looking at the pad.

“Read,” came the ordered reply.

Logan squared himself and began, “We The Sleepers offer the following to the uninitiated. Renewal is Eternel, but life is pointless. Sooner or later, you have tried every food there is to try, slept in every bed worth sleeping in, and have done everything your heart desires. Then what? Renew to the same thing over and over? We are sick of it all and propose final Death as a cure to the unending torture of perpetual existence.”

“Worse than Runners!” Francis snarled. “Runners usually only get themselves killed!”

Logan glanced over to Francis, indicating he had only paused for breath. “Our people will guide others to their cure until this whole City is given the peace it has long been denying itself. We will leave our teachings so that the Sandmen who are the City may understand us and help prepare those for Sleep as they once did.” 

Francis frowned. “So they are targeting Sandmen.”

“That wing was housing people who service the Nurseries. Supervisors, yes, but also techs. Medical personnel. Caregivers.: He wiped his hand over his face. “An entire generation of perfectly raised children now have to undergo reconditioning to accept new personnel.”

“We have to stop them!” Francis’ outburst was met with a weary scowl, which made Logan feel Supervisor 4 was questioning their intelligence.

“We have to find them to stop them and keep this from getting out. The surge in the number of Runners is bad enough!” He growled. “I know. You two are young. But there have always been some ugly, dangerous things in the City. Some people just can’t take perfection, I suppose!” He squared his shoulders. “We stop them from gaining traction before anyone has to know about whatever sickness they want to inflict.” 

Logan looked up from the datapad. “So we’re the antibodies of the City? Sandmen cure sickness.”

Supervisor swallowed with effort. Zap made a user’s throat dry. “Most Sandmen just handle day to day drunks, Cub raids, and Runners. There’s an unwritten code for things like this. Once in a full generation. A higher-level situation requires a higher level Sandman team. You’ve been marked as such a team.” As he glared at them, the circles under his eyes seemed to darken. “Potentially.”

He then turned back to his screen. “You have been chosen because your faces are not well-known. You can go undercover as civilians, look into places where a Sandman would be noticeable. We can’t trust that the Face techs are safe. Everyone is a suspect until no one is.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Logan discovered life as a civilian wasn’t all the leisure and fun as he’d been led to believe. It didn’t help that he and Francis had three rotating jobs, which effectively put them to work for six days a week plus the investigation.

Ctizens could also be rude to each other if things went wrong. One of his jobs involved operating a funhouse. It had broken down twice just this week. People he had seen look at him with admiration or at least respect when he was on patrol now looked at him with contempt. Francis worked inside as a machine operator and didn’t have to deal with the brunt of civillian ire. 

The second job was at a Love Shop. He acted as a Greeter who matched clients and small rented spaces. He often wondered how Francis was fairing operating the refreshment cart closer to the rooms. He thought he might have the easier job in that space.

The third job was at least blissfully quiet. He and Francis were both janitors for the housing complex between the two areas housing staff members for this side of the Arcade. It took them behind the shops and even into the old, currently abandoned storefronts of this Arcade level. It gave them a chance to talk about the case or vent about the civilian dregs they’d had to smile for during the other days of the week.

This area of the City wasn’t very active, even for an Arcade district. Still, Supervisor 4 had said that after analyzing X’s activities, the most likely places to strike would be somewhere in those three areas. People had a pattern - even when trying to be random. Discover the pattern and catch the seditionist. 

Zoe had once told him that, if you were dealing with a planner, targets and escape routes were usually examined in detail before a target was selected. Supervisor 4 had shared that opinion. Someone he and Francis were servicing on their pretend positions was very likely a time bomb.

He took the base of his palms and covered his eyes, slowly rubbing them to try and smooth out what felt like the jagged edges torturing his mind behind them. Under him, the tram cars rattled through the tunnels running between him and Nursery level. He’d been under the impression the whole City was soundproofed for the comfort of civilians before this point. His quarters as a Sandman were not much bigger than this, but they were more functional. His sunken living room could be changed to a large bed with a computer command. There wasn’t much room for company here. The bed could be adjusted to be a couch, he supposed. There was a terminal to call up various requests from the City stores for items or solo entertainments.

It occurred to him that, as pressed in as this life felt, it was also remarkably...something. He didn’t have the words for it. Even if it was an illusion, there were moments where his life felt like **_Logan._ ** For the first time, it occurred to him that maybe his father had slept in a bed like this. Maybe even this bed. He didn’t know why he never pictured his progenitor as a Sandman either when it was the only life up until this week he’d ever known. He had wanted to chase thought down, question it without mercy, and unlock whatever it knew about him that he didn’t. Francis entering his quarters, made him give up the pursuit.

“Lying down on the job?”

“Rest is not a crime, Francis,” Logan carped. He obligingly propped himself up on his elbows. “Do you have something?”

“The latest batch of pictures of people who stood out today.” He went over to the terminal, placed in a cassette, and the screen filled with the images of people.

“You can eliminate the ones with those oval and T-things,” Logan remarked.

“They would be seditionists.”

Logan sighed and sat all the way up. “They’re protesters that want to live beyond thirty. I don’t even think most of them want that. They just want to argue for something, and living is as good of a cause as any! Most of them come to their senses and join Carousel on Lastday. The people we’re looking for don’t want to live and think killing others is a kindness, remember? Take out the protestors.”

Francis raised an eyebrow, but did as Logan suggested. “Don’t share that with the supervisors.” Five people were in the line-up, four men and one woman.

“I remember these three,” Logan noted, moving over to the desk. “They came in as a group. What about these two?”

“The man there was someone I caught looking at the vents. He claimed to be an HVAC tech and mentioned that the placement in the Love Shop appeared unusual before I redirected him to his room. What about the woman?”

“Went alone into a room at a Love Shop for two days straight.”

“Both days alone?” Logan queried. Francis confirmed with a nod. “You’re right, that is unusual. Secured their names yet?”

“It is taking Central Command some time to process requests. I don’t know why.”

Logan groaned. “Another fuse blown, probably. Anything from the ID databanks is linked into the power lines close to Cub territory. The Cubs make a move for the power, and it fries everything until the tech and some guards can repair it.”

Francis scowled. “You’d think that could be fixed - or guarded.”

Something itched at Logan about that thought, but he went back to the pictures. “Why the trio?”

Francis’ scowl morphed into a pinched smile. “They were a little _too_ friendly.”

Logan snorted. “How do you get more friendly than being in a Love Shop?”

Francis sized up Logan. “Did Zoe let you go into one?” Logan’s silence was the answer, so Francis continued. “Well, Robert let me go in. Once you are in the room areas, you don’t linger in the hall. You get whatever you need to get and move along to the rooms. The people who are disruptive are the ones coming from the rooms or those near Lastday.”

“And people on Lastday talk. They talk.”

“Plenty.”

Logan studied the five pictures. “The group called themselves ‘we.’ in the statement.’’

“Still doesn’t mean they can’t have lone operatives,” Francis reminded him.

Logan pointed to the woman. “She was talking to me at the funhouse. She seemed very intent on getting me to come with her inside.”

“Did you get a name?”

“Rita 2.”

A hand fell on his shoulder. “That’s more of a lead than what we have right now until the computers come back online.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The directory gave them Rita’s address. Upon walking in, the older woman eyed them appreciatively as she wiped paint from her hands. Indeed, her whole quarters had so many canvases and various supplies that there were pathways winding through the space and barely any wall to be seen. Logan was dazzled by it. He’d been taught to draw sketches of areas or objects to assist with various crimes in Nursery, but Rita’s obsession with color and shapes exploded out from every surface.

“I remember you two,” she remarked with a slow, inviting smile. “Are you a couple then?”

Francis answered before Logan had a chance. “That’s right. We are.” Francis’ hand slipped around Logan’s waist. “He was saying you had an offer open?”

Rita scanned Logan’s gray eyes with her own amber ones. “Mmmm, yes. There’s a place in the funhouse. I wanted to paint there, but I need a way in - and a model. But you two are inspiring.” Her fingers walked up Francis’ chest. “I think two models might be better.” 

Forty minutes later, his mind was starting to catch up to the night’s events, and nothing he’d done before had trained him for it. Rita had guided them off the path of the funhouse to a side part that had been closed for three years, according to her. From there, she opened some maintenance tunnels and behind a false rock wall. A giant waterfall roared in the background sending cold droplets of water all about the room like a giant shaking off wet hands.

“This is the water source for the City,” Rita explained. Go ahead. Touch that wall.”

“What’s so special about it?” scoffed Francis, who seemed to be souring on this whole idea quickly. Logan, however, picked up on her meaning. He went over and gently reached out his hand to touch the stone.

“Francis, this is the wall of the City. This is real rock. Behind this is Outside.” Rita smiled. The other man was unimpressed. 

“So nothing.”

Logan sank back into his own thoughts about stories with blue skies and stars at night. He wondered what the Runners he lost thought about as they saw these things before death by the poisoned air. Had it been worth Renewal?

“It’s cold in here,” Francis protested.

“All the better to work with this. Took me a lifetime to get it.” She pulled off a pack on her back to reveal a rectangle of plasticlay. It wasn’t large; about a quarter of a meter on the short ends and half a meter for the long length. “Gathered the waste a little at a time at every maintenance job I ever worked. Don’t tell the Sandmen.”

“We won’t,” Logan replied. “You have our word.”

She shrugged. “I have one night anyway.” She fished for tools in her backpack. To Logan’s surprise, they were all handmade from scrap material. Again, another lifetime project. “I am going on the blink any second.”

“I’m sure you’ll be Renewed,” Francis assured.

Rita shrugged. “As Rita 2 again or as someone else? It doesn’t much matter. No one remembers being renewed, so I get one chance at being this Rita 2 right here and now, and Rita 2 wants you nice young boys to take your clothes off and stand under that light.

Logan glanced at Francis, and they both complied with Rita’s request. The manners of the City dictated that Lastday requests were often eccentric, personal, and to be complied with - within reason. Their pace wasn’t enough for the older woman who ordered them to pose themselves in the room just off center where the lighting cast triangular shadows across Francis’ face.

“Logan, she doesn’t know anything,” he muttered. “We’re wasting our time.”

“Did you have a hot date tonight, Francis?” he joked. “No, wait. I’m your date.”

Francis huffed. “You’re right. She’s on Lastday. We’re doing our jobs.”

“Closer!” Rita yelled. They obliged. “Touching!” Francis and Logan took hold of each other's arms like they were starting a slow dance. Rita’s response was an eye roll so dramatic it rolled her whole head around, and she started over to them amid a chorus of “no, no, no, no’s.”

“Are you cubs or men?” She took Logan’s hand and pressed it against Francis’s waist just above his hip. She then took Francis’ hand and placed it lightly on Logan’s shoulder. “Stay.” After a moment, Rita moved Logan’s other hand to the base of Francis’ neck. Francis’s other hand was placed on his side. “Keep staying.” She walked back to her block, which was now on a small cart.

 _This was not how I expected this night to go._ But he had to admit, there had been worse days on the job. The nerves were kicking in and it took effort not to laugh.

“Glad you think this is funny,” but there wasn’t the usual bite in the other Sandman’s tone.

Logan tried some breathing exercises to make the awkwardness of the situation lessen, but what was more fun and helpful was watching and feeling Francis’ attempts at the same. It was interesting reading him like this.

Francis' voice lowered to a volume Rita would not be able to overhear in the room as it echoed with the sound of rushing water. “Not a word about this in the reports or to anyone.”

“Embarrassed?”

“So are you. Don’t lie about it.”

“So much for being experienced at the Love Shop,” Logan teased, enjoying this opportunity to needle his partner. “Did you only take women to the rooms?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Francis snarked.

Rita moved her cart up closer, silencing their discussion and leaving Logan to think.

He should have been considering the case. It would be the Sandman thing to do. Instead being so close to Francis had offered him an idea. Maybe this was the loophole he’d been seeking. 

Zoe had been right. A Sandman’s life was a managed life; a focused life built around other Sandmen and the needs of the City for order and discipline. Civilians were appreciative, but she’d been right. If they gave a Sandman attention, they were dreaming of a life that, in the end, they wouldn’t want, and there was no way to explain this to them. After a few times in the Circuit, his interest in signing up for it dried up - a fact he did his best to conceal and bluff his way through. He knew whatever drove his want for a long-term companion would mark him as undesirably different, especially for a Sandman.

But what if he could build a life with another Sandman the way civilians could and sometimes did bond with each other? 

Rita moved her cart farther way. “You two are good models,” she remarked. “You’re used to being still. Being patient.”

“We have boring jobs,” Francis lied.

Rita sighed and continued her sculpt. She worked quickly. The rough shapes of their embraced outline were already carved out. Rita was sculpting the lines of their leg muscles now. “Most jobs are boring. That’s a rotten pull in life. Best thing you can do find something else to fill your time. I found art as a mid-Green. Way too late. So much time wasted!”

“Are you going to give it to the City?” Logan asked.

“They won’t take it. Maybe some shops will, or friends. But I don’t do this for the City. I do this for me.”

Logan sputtered a bit. “I don’t understand.”

Rita glared at him. “You’re moving,” she said - pointing her small knife at him as a threat. Then she explained. “You’re young. There's many things that get forgotten. You probably think there has always been Carousel. Wasn’t always, you know. It has been since I have been alive, but the person who taught me art? She used to work in a Sleep Shop.”

Francis looked over. “Sleep Shop?”

“Turn your head back!” she warned. “You had been doing so well.” She let out a breath. “So much of the City gets lost every time there is Renewal. The information doesn’t come back. There had been Sleep Shops before Carousel. More personal, she said, but less flashy. Less efficient. You came there on Lastday. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with friends. Sometimes with Sandman escort.” She pushed for a moment. “Maybe that’s where the name comes from? Deep Sleep Operative. ‘Sandman’ also used to be a story about someone that helped you get to sleep after a long night.”

The looks of shock on Logan’s face must have been dramatic. “Pull it together!” Francis hissed.

“Anyway. You go there. They have some drugs to offer. One was just pure joy, she said. When you were having the greatest joy, that’s when the other drug would kick in. You wouldn’t feel a thing except maybe your friend’s hand if they stayed to watch.”

“But how does that Renew someone?” Francis asked.

Rita shrugged. “How does Carousel? It’s all faith in the natural order. One life. One death.”

“Do you have it?” Logan asked.

“Faith? Yes. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want something to mark the fact that this Rita 2 was here and did something other than fixing wiring and plumbing problems. Now drop your pose and look at how pretty you are!” She was spraying the sealant as they turned, and it was the small masterpiece Rita had been hoping for. “I call it ‘Communion.’” Logan reached down to examine the details in the likenesses hairline. He even noticed she’d sculpted in a small scar on his right side before she pulled his face up into a long, slow kiss before doing the same with Francis.

“Leave it here.” She took in the room one last time. “It can stay where I’m leaving it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 70th birthday to Gregory Harrison. May Lastday still be far from reach.
> 
> Anyway, this one was tough. I wasn't expecting a mini-episode to appear in a prequel sequence, but here you go. Complications to this story were brought by "The Judas Goat," which, despite being a pretty good episode, paints a few things like the Runner movement into a corner by saying it has only been a movement for 13 or so years out of the 200 years from the time of the City's founding. The short version of my thoughts on a patch is that there have been several movements, and Jessica is part of the latest one. I still think Logan is the first Sandman to turn Runner though - and hopefully, you're now seeing where the cracks in his Sandman upbringing/brainwashing are forming in earnest.
> 
> The Sleep Shops and the carving are nods to other Logan's Run incarnations.


	5. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to Seven. Logan and Francis' first case comes to a conclusion, but not before sowing some doubts in Logan's mind.

The day after modeling for Rita, he attended Carousel after work. For some reason, he couldn’t make himself cheer for Rita as she floated close to the top before exploding into purple prismatic light. He found himself walking out of Carousel into the quieter evening streets. 

He found himself walking to Rita’s quarters. He felt compelled to take some kind of painting; to keep some idea of what she had been before she was Renewed. He also wondered if Francis would like one.

And when he entered the quarters, they were already bare.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He lay on his bed, examining the lines of the ceiling tiles.

It was interesting, but if he was to Renew tomorrow, he couldn’t think of a single thing he’d leave behind. He hadn’t created anything like Rita had. _Wait._

He dove out of bed for the terminal. The maintenance logs would show where the disposal was! If he could get to it using his sandman access - 

**Offline**

Logan slammed his fist on the table. What was he even feeling right now? It was like being denied something, only it was important. It was something he’d never reach and only had begun to understand.

“Not up for all the excitement?” Francis asked, sliding into his quarters.

“Central is still down,” Logan groused.

“It’ll be up in the morning. Why did you skip out on Carousel?”

Some instinct told Logan to lie before he registered that he was. “I had a thought about the case. I figured I’d look around while it was quiet.”

“Found anything?”

 _An empty room, probably stripped before she flamed out._ Outwardly, he shook his head. "I only know Rita’s not who we’re looking for.

Screams erupted from outside. Logan and Francis glanced at each other before grabbing the weapons they had concealed and sprinting out. They saw it immediately. After Carousel, the locals had filtered into the food court and the Funhouse for some evening time with friends for dates. A strange blue gas was coming from the Funhouse - with Central offline.

“We need to get people out!”

“We need to stop the gas and find the source,” Francis barked.

Logan’s mind raced. “There are masks under the console to the Funhouse in case something breaks.”

“For smoke. We’ll have to hope they work on this!”

Fighting their way through the crowd, they managed to reach the station and throw on the masks. Sandmen were starting to arrive on the scene, but it was pure chaos. The fleeing, panicked people were blocking the Sandmen from them.

He had a choice, and he ran for the civilians. He scooped a Green into his arms and heard the echo of his own labored breath as he hauled her to the nearest Sandman before running back in. It was a blur - like being on Muscle. He registered Francis had joined him, and the pair were now running back and forth in sync. When he paused for a moment, the drying layers of sweat on his face felt like liquified sandpaper across every angle that the mask touched, and he didn’t know if he or Francis had had the right idea. He was just grateful his partner followed his lead. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, the scene was clear and cleaned, like nothing ever happened. The gas attack was more flash than substance. The dispersal zone was much larger than the more confined living spaces where the Nursery workers had died.

“Do we know what the gas was?”

Francis sighed. “Not yet. Techs are still analyzing it.”

“What about the Funhouse?”

“It’s been sealed off.”

Logan paused. “How?”

Francis shrugged. “Sandmen on all the exits. Why?”

“Then how can we be sure?” Logan thought out loud. “Rita showed us this place is a maze of back corridors among the cordoned off areas. Suppose not all the exits are blocked. Suppose they just wanted people out of there.”

Francis got his gun back out. “Let’s get our real clothing and get going.”

He had to admit, he felt better and a lot less cold back in his Sandman gear. People parted for them as they had before and the other Sandmen let them through into the Funhouse. The pair began to retrace their steps through the space.

“Most of the ways out would be up,” Francis observed. “We know, the east wall is a dead end and below must be filled with water.

Logan nodded and the pair moved slowly through the twists and turns around outdated maze cars refitted for the ride. Logan pressed a button and the lights in the space came on, revealing the robotic bases of the various spooks and jump scares the ride had to offer.

“Francis, is Central still offline?”

“Yes, why?”

Logan had a thought crawling through his mind. “Has it ever been offline that long?”

“Not that I remember.”

He pursed his lips as he gingerly stepped over a set of animatronic controls. “This is part of the Old City. There’s not a lot of people here, but there are the things Rita showed us.”

“The big waterfall?”

“Yes, she said it was a water source. You said the tech in the Love Shop noticed the vents were different here. What if all of this is just a set-up to clear the area for something bigger?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever all this part now feeds. Something newer in the City that rerouted resources from here.”

Francis stopped moving to take in what Logan said. “Someone would have to have access to the City’s systems to know that. Detailed blueprints.”

Logan turned. “Like someone at Central.”

“Are you suggesting a _Sandman_ is behind all this?!” he scoffed.

A booming metallic clunk echoed through the ride, and the lights were snuffed out. Before he could cry out, the machinery in space roared to life, filling the space with the echoing sounds of machines he couldn’t see whizzing around him at unknown distances.

“Francis?” But his voice was drowned out by the whirling sounds of repetitive mechanical things laughing in the dark. He readied his gun and pressed on into a mirror maze. The further in he went, the less shafts of light shone from various angled and mirrored surfaces. He felt like he was surrounded by multitudes of selves, each trying to make sure they were the real Logan. Navigation was reduced to touch.

“Very clever, Logan,” a voice teased from the dark.

“Who’s there?!”

Now there was other laughter. At least two others. A man and a woman joined the first voice.

“Oh, I think you’ll find out soon. And that’s the problem.”

“Show yourself!” he demanded.

Something lashed out at his hand, causing his gun to fall and slide into the dark. He was ready for the next swing. He caught the pipe in his hand and pulled hard revealing the shadowed face of a man not much older than a wild cub. The intruder took the opportunity to raise his other hand to strike. He moved into the strike, blunting its force and kicked out hard. The other man, not expecting the low attack, fell back hard into the mirrors, shattering two and revealing a lit door to some kind of emergency exit.

Just as he took a step towards it something was lashed across his throat, cutting off his breath. Training overrode thought. Someone shorter with a garrote, but strong and frenzied. Logan made himself reach back and grasp the hands holding the wire while turning his body. He went for a sweep of her leg, causing her to lose balance and half of her grip on his neck. The growl from her didn’t sound like a human as she lunged again. This time, he caught her momentum and threw her into the man rising up from the mirrors. He heard more glass break and bolted for the door.

The maze of maintenance corridors loomed before him, heading what he hoped was north and south. North curved upward, and, remembering his revelation, he sprinted that way. Someone was behind all this and, based on the fight, it was looking more likely it was someone like him. Someone who was raised from birth to be an incarnation of the City of Domes. 

He finally found a door after running for what seemed like years. Using his janitor access, he keyed the door open to reveal exactly as he hoped. It was the section of Arcade that had been shut down. It was the place Rita said had once housed the Sleep Shops that had been overtaken by Carousel.  
  
Then it all clicked. To power Carousel, they would have needed power and resources like air scrubbers. The vents were likely different in the remaining Love Shop because they were part of an old filtration system now routed to mostly climate controlling the spectacle. Depopulating the area to such a low number of people managed the power drain. And how better to murder en masse than the nightly show at the heart of the City?

Where would such a murderer hide in all this?

He didn’t get a chance to follow the thought. He felt the sting and the flash of a blueish glow as a stun blast struck his back.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

He woke up feeling...sublime. The dust on the walls was in such intricate patterns! The damp smell was somehow like perfume. Even the straps on his wrists and ankles offered a pleasant pressure. The City might have been perfect, but this was some kind of Renewal into bliss itself.

“Glad you’re awake.” It was the echoing voice from before, but it sounded like angels singing into his ears.

Logan knew this experience could not be real or safe, but his voice came out as a burst of laughter he hadn’t experienced since Nursery. “What is this? What did you do to me?”

“The ultimate high, Logan,” Alex 10 said cheerfully. “Death.”

Logan laughed and the laughter wouldn’t stop. “You’re a Sandman!” he protested through perverse giggles.

“That’s right. One that gives the ultimate sleep.” Alex stroked his cheek. Behind Alex on a bench, Logan saw a batch of something brewing. Alex noticed. “Oh, that. We’re getting there.”

His sides started to ache from all this and his smile felt pulled up with hooks. “Why?”

Alex tisked. “This is why I should have had you as a trainee rather than Benjamin. You _ask_ things. You _want_ to know things. Too bad the timing was off.” He sighed and glanced back at the lab table once before continuing. “I know you’re different.”

“I’m a Sandman!” he declared, hoping it sounded at least somewhat serious.

“Who asks questions! Who _thinks._ ”

“Not different! You are!”

Alex laughed. “After you’ve been a Sandman, no other Renewal is going to cut it, you realize. You’re powerful. Life and death are just as much yours to command as with Carousel or this Sleep Shop. Renewal will just set you back.”

Dimly, Logan realized that Alex was trying to sell him something here. If he had wanted him dead, there had been more than a few opportunities already. Zoe had said once the best way to reason with madness was to agree with it long enough to get an upper hand.

“You’re right.” It took a herculean effort to lie right now. He was going to have to limit his words. “About Renewal.”

Alex was thrilled. “You questioned it?” 

“Yes.” Not a lie. He assumed everyone had and ultimately came to the conclusion he had, that it was for everyone’s good.

Above him was a flash of light. Blue. A stun setting. The smile on Alex’s face was plastered on as he fell over Logan.

“I won’t doubt your instincts next time,” said Francis, holstering his gun. “You have my word.”

“Drugged.” Logan managed to spit out.

“That’s obvious,” Francis deadpanned as he undid the straps.

“On the table.” Logan pointed to them. Francis lowered his gun. “No!” he cried. True to his word, Francis stopped.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Likely rigged.” The world was going to hell and it felt perfect. His mind was having no luck in making this all out.

Francis walked over to the chemical set up. “You’re right it’s rigged to -”

Alex had recovered while their attentions were turned. There was a gun pointed at Francis’ back. Logan fell upon Alex, grabbing for the gun. Both of their reflexes were marred from the drugs and the stun so it came down to will. Alex had it seized with both hands, but Logan managed to hold the butt of the gun and twist it down and away from him. Alex tried twisting it back just as Francis had scrambled over. The gun went off. Logan watched in morbid fascination as the homer hit the side of his face, burning away half his jaw before leaving him dead.

Logan realized it hadn’t been him that caused the blast, but it was little comfort. The drugs had burned themselves from his system.

Francis offered a hand up. “That’s two times I should shut up and trust you.” After Logan was on his feet, Francis checked his link to Central. “Back Online.” He clicked it on. “Seditionists terminated. Zone One. Two in Funhouse. For the last one hone, in on my signal.”

“Acknowledged.”

 _Of course, Francis terminated them._ Logan thought dimly, but he felt no remorse.

Usually, he didn’t stay when a body fell to wait for the automated systems to come and disintegrate it like any other debris. This time, he did, with Francis. for the long dark minutes to stretch by. After a small eternity passed a diminutive, circular robot the size of a game ball came by. It fired some kind of white foam from a hose on its underside over the fallen body of Alex 10. After one second, it was still human-shaped. After a moment more, it became indistinguishable mounds of debris. After another couple of minutes what was left of Alex was a kind of tan gel; the robot started to vacuum it up. At 15 seconds, the robot went away, leaving a small rectangle of perfectly clean surface in the otherwise dilapidated shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters are likely to be shorter and more focused. When a big case messes you up in your teen years, though, you have to give it a little more room.
> 
> Feel free to send more comments and kudos.


	6. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the one for the majority of the trigger warnings. Logan's search for a loophole that would allow him the feeling of connection he's been seeking finds a window opportunity. Plus, there's more on Sandman culture. 
> 
> There is one set of lines in here I took from the original "Logan's Run," novel because - it just needed to be there. All credit to Nolan and Clayton-Johnson on that one. (More in the end notes.)

He sidestepped the kick, but not enough for it not to land. Blood welled up in his mouth. Jason 10 landed off-balance - which was the plan. Logan made a sweep to his opponent’s knee, hoping to connect.   
  
The point here wasn’t to get the quick win. The point here was to make Jason 10  _ think _ Logan was going for the quick win.

The blow landed low on the inside of his shin, pinning the two opponents so close that punches were ineffective. Jason would have to go for the grapple, and Logan was counting on it. Jason surprised him by trying to sidestep the closeness and go for a kidney shot. Instinctively, Logan countered by twisting with Jason and using a palm strike on his abdomen. The blow connected, and the crowd roared with the sound of a thousand bets being lost. The air left Jason’s lungs with a sickening grunt and, before he could recover, Logan tried for another sweep and a palm strike to the chin. Jason’s jaw shot upwards, knocking him off-balance.   
  
Francis was shouting for him from the sideline, and it felt like an extra jolt of much-needed power. Everyone else wanted the spectacle. Most favored the combat instructor, but Francis - his friend - favored  _ him. _ He wanted him to win! He believed in him. If he won this -

He shoved the thought away.  _ Focus! _   
  
The sweep was expected, and Jason had started to step back, but with the strike to the chin he overcompensated, knocking him over. Logan was proud of himself just long enough for the other man to flip himself back up and use some of the momentum to punch. The blow knocked Logan backwards and almost off his feet.

The environment gave him an idea. He ran away from Jason, forcing him to pursue up the rocks on the side of the arena.

“What are you doing?!” howled Francis from the sidelines. Going too far out of bounds was a disqualifier, and Logan was right on the line. He flipped around, as if just noticing his mistake. Jason charged. Logan was hoping for that. Stepping to the side and using his own momentum Logan caught and flipped the other man. His left foot landed over the line, and the buzzer added accusation to Jason’s mistaken hastiness.

A mix of boos and cheers filled the crowd. Francis’ return to the arena made the boos melt away. He raised Logan’s arm up in victory. “The City is All,” they declared in victory, completing their part of the ritual. 

“Winner by boundary - Logan 5!” announced the City’s computer - the final arbiter of all things. It continued to read off the results dispassionately in sharp contrast to the crowd. “Final rankings: Francis 7: 1345 points. Logan 5: 1305 points. Jason 10: 1295 points.

And on it droned, but Logan didn’t care to listen. He was far more focused on the warm glow of Francis’ approval. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------

“I have to admit, Logan, I thought he had you there.”

While there were many competitions and events in the City of Domes, there was only one Games. The Games were a Sandman only event open to experienced, Red level DS Operatives. The ritual was as close to religion as Carousel and, thanks to meeting Rita, he had the idea the War Games Competition was older. He wondered if it was older than the last nuclear war. Fatalities were not uncommon, but Logan was thankful nothing terrible had occurred this year - his first year on competition and first win. 

He shrugged and regretted it as the medics bandaged the gash in his leg and ran a scan on his wrist. His body hated him right now, but none of it mattered. He’d been beaten worse during his time in Nursery. “I won though,” he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant.

Technically he hadn’t won. He came in second. Francis had topped the martial arts competition, the obstacle course, and the tracking competition where he had been sent to chase Logan himself down. By contrast, Logan’s time in the escape room had been faster, and he had hit more targets on the marksmanship competition. Only his last-second bluff in the martial arts tournament had pushed him to this position. He was happy about it, no doubt, but compared to his friend, he felt like a fraud even if it was standing in his shadow with his sprained wrist and a body covered in bruises from the three-day competition.

Francis smirked. “You didn’t beat me.”

Logan’s stomach flipped a bit. “That wasn’t going to happen, so I set my sights lower.” 

“On the Omnite master,” Francis scoffed. “So, I guess you’re stuck with me for the year.”    
  
The top two Sandmen were always assigned together because, as champions, they were more than Sandmen. They stood as symbols of the City. They received the most challenging work. There were stories about their adventures written for the screens that kept the City informed of their deeds. Their Carousel ceremonies always drew the largest crowds and the bigger after celebrations - parties made to be once in a lifetime. It was proof of Renewal, some claimed. It would take lifetimes for Sandmen to be made that effective. 

The medics declared the wrist sprained and began to wrap it. Logan couldn’t help but keep smiling even though the process was less than pleasant. “I think I can live with that.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the day was a blur until the evening. People were offering congratulations. People leaving offers for favors and there were gifts offered. The cannabis extracts and alcohol were taking the edge off the pain, but they completely slid his sense of time and focus into a kind of low level, joyous fog. There was food finally after three days and something to drink besides water. It was hard not to overindulge in it all.

Logan kept looking over to Francis and thanking his luck. He’d been an ideal partner, filling in the skills Logan himself lacked. Francis simply had a mind for mercurial action. When tracking, he was relentless and utterly focused. His confidence with people seemed inhuman sometimes. Logan knew he was the better investigator. He had a knack with informants Francis lacked.

But somewhere in the middle of the evening's firework show, the events of the past three days were starting to wear on them both. Francis offered his quarters as a place to go since Logan’s quarters in another sector. That suited him just fine. As soon as they got there, they both put their guns to the side and collapsed into bed, falling asleep as soon as they hit the mattress.

Logan woke up first. Not wanting to disturb Francis, but knowing that his restlessness would do the job if he didn’t get up and put his energy to use, he went over to Francis’ work table and started the near-mindless task of taking apart his gun.

The gun originally had 5 settings - stun, kill, homer, blast, and tangle. Logan had removed the tangle setting. Stun worked just fine, and tangler could jam the gun. It wasn’t worth having in his mind. He found Francis’ maintenance kit in the top drawer. Upon opening the degreaser, he was disappointed at the smell. Francis should have replaced it a long time ago. He sighed, made a mental note to get him a replacement kit and retrieved his own emergency stash of the stuff from the side of his boot.

He had the gun laid out completely as Francis stirred.

“Morning.”

Francis groaned. “Is it?” He quickly glanced at the clock. “Why are you up?”

Logan shrugged. “I’m a morning person.”

Francis groaned louder and more incoherently, making Logan smile all the more. He finally had some small victory on Francis, and it was fun. “What are you doing?” he grumbled.

“Maintaining my gun. I do this every morning. Never know when I’ll have to use it.”

“You’re a Sandman, not a tech! That kit is just for emergencies. You know that.”

“I like doing it,” he said defensively. “It makes sure my weapon stays mine.”

“You’re as strange as they come! Anyone ever tells you that?” Francis replies, dropping into a familiar argument. 

Logan thought for a moment while polishing the barrel before giving the standard answer. “Just you.”

Francis went to the wall unit and ordered coffee and breakfast delivery for them, then he turned back to Logan. “What are you smiling at?”

Logan put the barrel down. He tried picking up the power pack, but his fingers all of a sudden felt twice as thick. The brace on his wrist wasn’t helping. He nearly dropped it. This was his chance to start a conversation he’d been playing in his mind since posing for Rita. He did his best to steady his voice.

“You. Every chance you get to argue with me, you take it. Every chance to work together, you spring at. Every book I read you get to eventually, and then you want to argue about the book. Now we’re adding gun maintenance to this?”

“I like you,” he replied with a hint of a grumble in his voice. “You’re smarter than most Sandmen. More observant. We make a great team. Unstoppable.”

“Are we friends, Francis?”

Francis had to think about it. “Friends’ is a top honor. But, yes. I guess we are.”

There was this warm feeling he couldn’t identify, but with Francis’ acknowledgment, it surged out from his torso all the way out to the tips of his battered fingers. “I know it is. I think of you as a friend.”

With that, the clouds started to lift around Francis. “So, we’re friends. We’re now partners for at least the next year, and we are the top Sandmen in the City. Any thoughts on what we should do to celebrate?” 

_ Now or never.  _ Logan got up from the desk. Even though the carpet was soft, he swore every footfall echoed in his ears with a deafening sound. “Do you remember Rita 2?”

“And that sculpture of hers? I remember.”

Why was his mouth dry? It wasn’t like he was new to this! The only difference with any of this was that it wasn’t a night on the Circut or some appreciative fan full of civic lust. “What did you think about that?”

“What do you mean?”

_ How could he be so..?  _ Logan didn’t even know the word. Francis wasn’t stupid by any means - but didn’t he get how  _ unusual _ all that was? He swallowed his trepidation and pushed forward. “I mean, what was it like for you?”

Logan watched Francis’ gaze slide over him in uncomfortable confusion. Then, slowly, his body shifted more towards Logan’s to face him. The grouchy friend persona appeared to melt off him like wax revealing something different. It wasn’t lust exactly, but it was covetous. Logan suddenly wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing he was reaching for.

There was a knock at the door, breaking the moment. Logan sprinted to the door to retrieve the food and thank the delivery person. Anything to stabilize the tension in the room.

“You should have let me with your arm being like that,” Francis finally said, taking his share of the meal.

Logan shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

The silence stretched as they ate. He was going to completely jettison this whole idea. Zoe was right. Sandmen had a life that the City preordained for then, and there would always be limits. Friends were few. Love was easy, frequent, and obligation. He should -

Francis’ lips were on him before he could register that his food had been swept aside. He put himself on autopilot, kissing back unsure of the next move when it wasn’t just another lay. He needn't have concerned himself, because Francis had a plan. 

“Get out of them,” he ordered. The request was obliged without thought. It had been what he’d come here for, after all. 

Everything after that was in fragments. Fingers across his chest that surged his adrenaline. A string of kisses down his spine, but with an order that rung in his ear along with warm breath that smelled of strong, black coffee - an order to not move - to relax and let him do the work. 

At one point, he remembered saying,  _ Francis, you’re hurting me!  _ His touches were landing on bruises from the fight. The reply was something about endorphins from pain enhancing the experience, but with a change in approach that was more gentle, but not enough. There was a sense that lovemaking another kind of wrestling challenge to Francis. He supposed he was right. The fear and pain was potent alchemy with the fantasy of connection that had brought him. What had Rita called it? Communion? After a sharp stab of pain from his thigh, Logan found himself rising up to meet Francis, move for countermove - wrestling back, jabbing at Francis’ injuries, pinning him next. He wanted him to hurt as much as he wanted him to enjoy. He needed to be Francis' equal in this battle - no more second place - and that was his last clear thought. Logan gave himself over to the frenzy of their time together with sweat and power, and groans of pleasure into a battle with no winner or loser that created a personal tournament just for them.

And that was how it went. The first was good. The second was all right. The third orgasm was bad. The fourth orgasm was painful. The fifth orgasm was agony. The sixth orgasm was damnation.

_ So this is how it works. _ Logan realized. _ This is how a Sandman loves. _

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At some point, sleep claimed them both, and this time Logan woke up last to an empty apartment. Beyond the pain that reclaimed him from the tournament, he felt...hollowed out. It was like a part of him had turned Runner and left to suck on the poison of Outside rather than stay with who last night had transformed him into. With effort, he raised himself back up from the bed, showered, dressed, reassembled his gun, and left the apartment with seeping numbness coupled from the charged feeling of immense physical release still arcing across his nerves. 

His work shift didn’t start for two hours, but all he wanted was work. Logan needed something to focus on so he didn’t have to pay attention to himself. After that, he could go back to his apartment, go read something, and sleep all this off. Another shower was going to be needed somewhere in there.

But just his luck, Francis had the same idea after coming back from...Logan realized he didn’t care right now.

“Morning, Logan.”

“Morning.” He got into the mazecar. It was just the pair of them. Terrific.

Francis started in first. “Sleep alright?” he asked with an alertness Logan envied. Logan nodded. “That’s good.” Another pause. “About last night.” His voice trailed off, letting Logan speak. Logan was a little amazed Francis gave him the room, but he didn’t have the energy to go into much.

“What about it?” he tried to sound casual - like a Sandman.

Francis chuckled. “It’s all right, Logan. I’m flattered. It was fun, but, don't worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Logan felt a flash of offense. He wanted to punch his only friend into unconsciousness, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. What the hell did Francis think he had on him? “Oh?”

“Sure. You weren’t into it.” Francis leaned into him conspiratorially. “I know it’s a little strange, but it’s okay to just like women. You don’t have to try to keep up or impress me.”

Everything about what he said was a damn lie, but all Logan could manage was: “You're right. You have me all figured out. Good job.”

“What can I say?” The doors slid open, depositing them on opposite sides of the tracks. “I’m the best - and so are you.”

Logan shook his head, crossed over to Francis’ side and started towards Headquarters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Kate, who helped me better define what it was I was seeing in Logan. I am in their debt and I've updated tags accordingly.
> 
> The 6 orgasm lines are the only parts that are not mine. They come from the book from a sequence involving a poisoning/hostage situation. It's a rather notorious scene in the fandom and one that's easy to point to and say why the TV show with its "family," audience ideals was very different. But this is Logan's Run for adults, so it's time to show the brutal "pleasure," world of the City as it is, not as edited for 70s television. 
> 
> Happy 44th birthday to the movie, which debuted June 23rd, 1976, and set in motion everything you are reading here. Michael York's Logan is not Harrison's Logan or book Logan, but his Logan is certainly the most well known and he and Jenny Auguter's lovely Jessica deserves that praise. (MCU, folks - you know this lady. Go look her up.)


	7. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bold act made by the Runners and an encounter with a Runner's humanity unsettles Logan.
> 
> There are references to dialogue from the pilot and an outfit seen in "Futurepast." A character from "The Collectors," is also involved.

“Francis, I’m telling you, the Runners are up to something!”

Another night. Another Carousel. Another obligation to sit through until another call that would leave them chasing after yet another Runner.

“So what if they are?” Francis’ eyes went to the pre-ceremony. There was a dance performance tonight. Some kind of dramatization of escaping from the hell of nuclear war and poisoned air into the embrace of the City. “Why worry about it?”

“Why worry? Francis, there hasn’t been a sighting of anything regarding the movement in over three weeks.” It hadn’t stopped the desperate ones that just fled out of panic without a plan, but those were different. The proper Runners ran for places in the City outside of the view of nearly everyone. As the movement grew, techs became more scrutinized, but the information kept trickling out somehow. Logan wondered if it would flood. “Don’t you remember our first case? The death cult  _ before _ the Runners?”

“We stopped them, didn’t we?” Francis looked around. “And there’s no need to bring that up. Someone could overhear you.”

“And then what? I ruin their night?”

“Yes. And the last thing anyone wants at Carousel is a bad night.”

Logan folded his arms, knowing better than to keep at his partner. Maybe he was jumping at shadows.

“Cheer up! It’s going to be a wild one tonight. There are five Sandmen up for Renewal tonight. Jason 10 among them.”

That was not an evening Logan wanted to recall clearly, but he smiled gamely at Francis just the same and tried to focus on the dancers.

Soon the opening acts would be over. The dais would rise. The lights of the stage would blink out except for the flower pattern’s warm glow. Soon out would come the cloaked figures in white to stand as one around the blood-red flower - the symbol of the City’s elders - guided by the Sandmen in black shimmering robes with a pulsing red flower over their heart - symbols of life’s blood wholly dedicated to thirty years of service. After those in white rose to their Renewal, then the Sandmen guiding them would take their positions, to the increased thundering of the crowd while the air smelled of stage fog, ozone, and collective euphoria. Logan and Francis’ nights rarely lasted that long. Someone almost always tried to Run. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

No matter how many times he saw it, there was always some sense of awe. Some nights it was the warm, glowing kind of awe. Other nights it was the kind that made the pit of Logan’s stomach lurch and at thought of the ritual’s power over every aspect of City life. He remembered Rita’s story of the Sleep Shops and the mind-numbing bliss of the “death,” he had had years before.

“Francis,” he asked. “Have you seen anyone renewed?”

Francis was taken out of the ceremony and studied him for a moment. “Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about Rita. And the others, like that suicide we were called on last week.”

Francis shrugged. “Rita made it to Carousel. I’m sure she’s fine now.”

“But what about the suicide?”  _ What about Zoe, murdered in that apartment so long ago? _

“What’s bringing this up now, Logan?” he snapped.

The voice of the arena - the same voice as Mother from Nursery - called out to the City’s children. “Aries 25, Identify.” The crowd cheered, but there was a problem.

“There’s no one down there.”

Francis’ hands tapped on his thighs. “I’m sure it’s fine,” but Logan knew that voice. It was the one he used for mutual reassurance.

Mother’s voice repeated, “Aries 25, Identify.”

And without further words, they were both on their feet, guns in hand and sprinting for the backstage.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Someone had gotten the drop on Jason 10. A homer had ended his life moments from Renewal.

“These people are vile!” Francis spat, seeing the senior Sandman’s black-clad body with his mask caught in his hand with a death grip.

Logan’s mind was on the hunt, looking for any sign where people could be in this maze of corridors. He’d never been back here. Only stagehands, performers, and those about to be Renewed were allowed back here. He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be reprogrammed to forget the layout later. As much as the City had sacred spaces, this was one of them. He was also concerned whoever was doing this had a DS gun and could use it. 

They heard a woman scream and flew towards it. An old woman was screaming. Her bodysuit was on, but her brown hair wasn't covered by the suit’s hood and she had no mask on her face. She stopped short in front of them. “Please! I am not a Runner!” she cried hysterically. “I want to Renew! I want to live! You have to believe me!”

“We do,” replied Francis, taking her into his arms. “But we have to know what’s going on.”

She pointed down the hall. “The Runners have us. They are keeping the Sandmen from us! From Renewal. They want us to all Run!” Her dark eyes fell on Logan. “Some are leaving.”   


“Remind me not to doubt you next time,” Francis griped.   
  
Down the corridor, they all heard a rattling of some kind of chain. There was a tall man standing half-shadowed by what he quickly surmised was the gate control. Logan caught a glimpse of a man’s leg covered in red fabric.    


“Call it in,” Logan ordered. “They’re counting on the Sandmen to be overwhelmed!” Francis took the terminal link off his belt and did as he was told, but Logan had already taken off like a homer towards the tall figure.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Runner!” 

The chase had taken them through maintenance conduits on the Nursery level into the debris-laden storehouses of raw materials and the labyrinth of old factories making up the edge of the New City. Logan had lost his backup long ago. The man’s luck had been played out, though. He was now stuck between Logan and the toxic air of the Old City. It was just them now, hunter and hunted and Logan had gained quite the respect for this Runner. Jason’s death was terrible, but he had to admit that the escape plan had been executed with a brilliance he had never credited civilians with having before this evening. 

The man froze. Logan’s fingers felt slippery on the gun. He could feel the breath on his lips, drying them out with every pulse of breath passing them. “I should kill you where you stand.”

“I expect you to,” he said with an almost friendly, if somewhat breathless calm. “I’m waiting for it now.” His quarry turned. His face appeared younger than his Red seeming, but his eyes were somehow older. “Can I ask for your name?”

Logan wanted to object. He wanted to tell this terrorist that he owed him nothing. The City he represented had given this traitor everything! But all he had was his name. “Logan.”

“One of the top two Sandmen in the City.” The man’s lip twitched slightly. “I suppose I should be impressed with myself, drawing you out. I’m Martin. I’m a human being - like you.”

Logan steadied the gun in his hands with effort. Why did this Runner unnerve him? And why was he suddenly realizing he couldn’t remember the name of nearly anyone that had run from him? “This isn’t a game!”

“Then why make it one?” Martin eyed him. “You’re sick of it, aren’t you, Logan?”

“What do you mean?”

“Chasing people. Blasting holes in them and then trying to go back to a meaningless neverending party filled with admiring followers like it was just another day. Taking upon yourselves to maintain the ‘glory’ of a City you have to know is falling apart. One of you Sandmen has to be tired of it and, Logan, you look so tired of it you’re sleeping on your feet. The Deepest of Sleep Operatives.”

“You know nothing about me,” Logan snarled.

Martin tilted his head. “Does anyone? Know anything about you, I mean.” 

KA-CLANG! Something large and metal dropped from some high point! Logan turned his head towards it, fearing it was a wild cub or some other Sandman. Martin took the opportunity to run for his life.

The shot was as clear as could possibly be made. The kill would be quick and clean. He’d be the City’s hero once again saving it from Martin - a man who foolishly believed that the poisoned air of Outside somehow beat Renewal back into the City’s bosom. He fired - once. Twice.

The blasts hit their marks on the side of the doorway, scattering rubble from the decayed Old City down onto the ground blocking anyone from following. Martin could die on his terms in that festering relic or in the wasteland of Outside. Logan could give a damn. He was too busy steadying his breath.

Some Sandmen came moments later, attracted by the noise of the gun. Logan gave them all the answers that would suit them. He had fired, but the Old City had conspired against him. They accepted his word and offered to take him out of there as a group. He took them up on the offer, but not before looking back towards the direction of the falling metal. He was sure someone’s eyes were on him, but they weren’t a Sandman’s. If they had been, he knew every accomplishment he had ever made as a Sandman wouldn’t matter. He’d be just as dead as Martin. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

He’d been indulgent. He questioned the order of things. Sandmen don’t question the order of things.

Zoe had explained it imperfectly all those years ago, but she had been right. Sandmen were only off-duty if alone. The second someone else was in the room, the fantasies were there, too. It became about projecting the image of glory and power of the City. Some nights the attention was exciting. On a growing number of nights, he felt like a park or another of the City’s many entertainments. And right now, he didn’t have the energy to be someone else’s entertainment, so he was thankful no one had seen fit to make themselves at home awaiting his return from tonight’s debacle.

“Lock, lights, and bed.” The computer obeyed, and Logan made his way in the dark to the sunken seating area, which had converted itself into a sleeping arrangement.

On nights like this, he had a habit of sleeping in his uniform, but tonight he undid the snaps of his uniform and threw it with a fit of frustration out of his bed, following with his pants in short order. His belt with the gun stayed close to his side.

“Computer?”

“Working.”

“How many people have I killed?”

“Zero.”

“That’s not true!” he snarled in the dark. “I’ve taken down criminals. I’ve killed Cubs or others that were a threat to my life. I’ve terminated Runners!”

The computer blipped once. “Is there a query, Logan 5?”

“Yes! Tell me how many lives I’ve taken!”

The computer blipped again. “Zero.”

The cry of frustration was sudden and acute - a wellspring of some powerful truth denied him, not just about the death of Runners and malcontents, but of so much more. As his head hit the hard pillows, he was surprised to find tears at the corners of his eyes. He screwed his eye shut tighter and tried to find anything in his mind to regain control.

And there he was again. The dim shadow figure of a man similar to the one he had seen in Nursery as a child, but not quite. It was like he was standing silently at the edge of the bed, looming over him. No matter how many times he pictured this figure or had him manifest in restless dreams, it was always the same. He could make out almost every detail of his hands, legs, and chest. He could see the outline of hair similar to his own - but he could never make the figure have a face.

But the feeling of sadness and disappointment? That always came with this phantom - the father he never knew; the phantasm who saw his whole life and disapproved of it.

_ It’s a lie.  _ He told Logan without speaking.

“What is?” He had to be going crazy now. He was a grown man conversing with an imaginary not-friend, and he hadn’t had a hallucinogen in years.

_ It’s a lie. _ He repeated louder this time, expecting Logan to know.

“What? My work? My life? Maybe the women coming to my quarters more nights than not are all imaginary!”

It had to come back to Martin. Something in his words and serenity had landed on him like the bite of a homer, shattering every nerve he had. 

_ Does anyone? Know anything about you, I mean. _

Runners were not allowed to  **be** humans! Maybe they had been the day before, but when they chose to Run, they became something else.

The ghost at the end of his bed had a question:  _ Why? _

Choosing anything other than Renewal was insane. There was nothing else left in the world after the War except for the City. But Runners went for Outside. What could they hope to gain in their last few seconds of life other than knowing somehow they’re gotten the upper hand against this god awful place?

_ God awful? _

“Lights!” he cried out.

The phantom disappeared. He was alone again. Sweet Renewal, he had thought of the City of Domes as “god awful.” What kind of Sandman was he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin's appearance from "The Collectors," unnerved Logan and I got the sense from Jessica's projection of him that he was a naturally gifted therapist. I had the real Martin use his talents here to save a pair of lives, starting with his own.
> 
> Please note the falling debris. I'll return to clean it up someday.
> 
> Logan mentioned dreaming of his father in the pilot. Unlike Jessica's mixed messages about what her mother could have been like, Logan's mention of a father figure seems to be a sadder experience.
> 
> Aries 25 would be April 14th. I haven't made a reference for Randy Powell yet, (This would be Francis 7's awesome actor.), so I snuck his birthday in. :)


	8. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a little under a year before "Carousel." (There's even a reference to it.) He does not recall these events during that episode. Logan is 26 years old.

“Come on, Logan, get up!”

Usually, he was terrific at getting out of bed quickly, and he was giving this very command to Francis. Sheila had been by last night, and they’d made a late night out of it after she’s pressed him for every detail regarding the pair of Runners he’d help Francis corner trying a repeat of the Carousel stunt months prior. The act made Logan feel redeemed for falling for Martin’s lines, even when those words still attacked him at odd moments when his guard was down. That’s what had made Sheila’s presence so nice last night. He had someone to focus on, so he didn’t have to fight his own mind nearly as much as he did when alone. Logan was as disappointed she’d left again without saying “good morning.” as he was at having to get up right now, however. 

“Is it a Runner?” he asked, his words leading into a yawn.

“No, a wanderer from Nursery.”

He’d discovered in the cadet days that, despite the tales of glory and heroism he’d listened to intently in Nursery, the work of a Sandman mostly involved three things: saving civilians from themselves, being an extension of the City, and terminating Runners. Attempting to find escapees from the Nursery before they were declared “feral,” was a combination of the first two. 

“How long have they been gone?” Child retrieval had a 48-hour time frame. After that, they were considered to have gone wild. If they survived until 15 years of age, there was another attempt at retrieval, but life in Cathedral sector was unforgiving. The City hid away its madness there, and Logan wouldn’t wish it on a Runner or criminal, no matter how many tried leaving that way.

With another stretch, he was up and pulling on his clothes. “What do we know?”

“There’s a reason they’re sending us. He’s from Level 2.”

“Sandman level. He escaped Sandman training?!”

“That’s right,” Francis acknowledged. “Smart kid.” There was a pause before he added. “Remember when we tried that?”

“We could have made it, too, if that vent had been a bit looser.”

While the fear of becoming a cub was palpable, the strict life of Nursery compared to the lure of adult freedoms and pleasures also ran strong. After a while, you felt like you’d outgrown the same four walls, even when they could project any fantasy of what the world had been. As much as the thought of children escaping to Cathedral sector terrified him as an adult, he wasn’t far enough removed from those four walls not to understand the allure of doing so. 

  
He snapped the back of his uniform together. “What’s the count?”

“Ten hours, Twenty-tree minutes.”

“Francis, this child has been gone for a whole day?!”

“The other teams haven’t had much luck. They need us. And Logan -” Francis took him by the shoulders and fastened the last two snaps at the collar in place. “Let’s go.”  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cathedral was never the same twice. There were always smoldering fires and debris piled taken away from the walls that got thinner and more bare every time he walked in. They were always being arranged as the residents saw fit. Sometimes, Logan wondered how long it would take the Cubs to strip the whole place and move onto some other part of the City. It always felt like something the Computers could better manage in the no man’s sector. If the tech had to come down, they had to bring a team of armed sentries.

“What did the reading say?” Logan asked, climbing over a barrier.

“They don’t,” Francis replied. “Somehow, Jacob 5’s tracker went offline.

“Offline? Then wouldn’t he be terminated?”

Francis shook his head. “Somehow, his tracker is shorted out. There was ample evidence of his presence through the ventilation systems up through Cathedral, but something before the vents caused the tracking malfunction.”

“Little wonder no one can find him in this maze!”

Francis turned to him. “You can. Logan, you’re the best tracker in the City.” The tables had turned during the last two tournaments thanks to Logan being able to learn from his partner.

“This one is going to be a hard one, Francis, even for me.”

“Think it through. I’ll cover you.”

Right. Like that was easy! Nursery 2 was two levels below their feet. Air from the Old City was scrubbed and then blasted into Cathedral, adding to the low rumble of background noise permeating the space and often masking the cubs’ movements. From here, air was circulated down to the lower levels while being further scrubbed by UV filters and other neutralizing agents. The only way Jacob would have made it up was during a whisking phase where stagnant air was blown out of the Nurseries. That meant finding where the opening was to the Sandman level.

“Francis, pull up a map. If we were two levels below, which way would it be to the barracks be?”

Francis obliged. With the Tracker in hand, he pointed towards the southeast wall. “That way.”

The labyrinth was unnervingly quiet today. Logan hadn’t seen any cubs out of the corner of his eye. There would be occasional crying or a low wail animalistic cry. His skin crawled. There were enough Sandman. It would take maybe a week of overtime to clear this Sector out and reshape it.

“What do you think the point of this place is? Why does the Computer keep it open and in this kind of shape?”

“Resources have to be put elsewhere, I suppose.” Francis’ tracking device hummed with a steady metallic dripping sound - like a computer trying to mimic dripping water. “And there needs to be a place for the crazy ones.”

“Couldn’t they be reprogrammed, like the habitual offenders?”

“At what cost, Logan? What kind of resources -” Francis stopped. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Question. You’re a Sandman.” He waved a hand. “This is the order of things.”

“And Sandmen don’t question the order of things,” Logan repeated the rote.

He wondered if his friend had ever had a thought in his head that didn’t match the City’s. Logan was envious of that serenity to his core.

The machines in this deep part of Cathedral sighed the giant’s sigh of the City’s lungs. The labored huffs masked any other sounds with an intensity that shook the floors under their boots ever so slightly. The debris remained in the corners here, creating a flat clear area that the Sandmen could see stretching around a couple of wide corridors. It was not ideal for an ambush, for which Logan was grateful. Still, the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Even though he’d never been this deep in Cathedral before and he could feel the time flicking away into oblivion. There was also something sinister about this space. If only he could pinpoint it!

“Why are you stopping?”

Logan held out a hand flat and low as if to caress the air. “There’s something wrong.”

His partner focused his attention on his device with impatience. “There’s some kind of energy source a kilometer that way. It’s big - whatever it is. And it’s not on the map!” Francis started toward it.

It happened so fast. Francis was combat-ready one moment, and then in a split second, he heard his partner howl. All Logan could see was black and dark red gushing from his shin, soaking his uniform. Time slowed as if he were a cub on Muscle. He dove to Francis to catch his fall. It was a good thing, too. That was when he saw what was wrong. The floor ever so slightly glimmered with strands of gossamer thread - a bleak invention of the war still used to secure some quadrants. The slightest pressure on the microfilaments could slice a man in half, and Francis had nearly fallen on three more interwoven threads close to the floor. 

“Francis,” he breathed.

He gave Logan the assessment. “I’m not going to make it out of here.”

“Don’t give me that!”

He had an idea. Logan took out his weapon and set it to the highest blast setting. Francis looked confused, unsure now what his fate with Logan was. The gun was quickly placed to the side while he applied pressure to the wound, dampening his own hands in blood. “This is going to hurt. A lot.”

Francis nodded. He dropped into the breathing techniques they learned in Nursery to manage pain during their Omnite endurance sessions. Logan waved a hand over the gun’s barrel. Hot. He hoped hot enough. But his trouble had only started.

“Lookie what the spider webs caught. Two little black flies!”

After the girl’s voice echoed off the walls, so did the laughter of other children.

“Please!” Logan cried. “He’ll bleed to death!”

“We see that Sandfly!”

The cubs could be seen now, oozing out from the rafters, from behind the piles of metal remains, and moving away from false vents. They had bows and spears among them, having adapted to this section of Cathedral with lethal efficiency. He had to blink twice upon seeing them. When had they become so damn young?

Logan tried another tactic. “My gun is set for overload,” he lied. “I needed the barrel warm enough to burn his wound and stop the blood! If I don’t stop the sequence, this whole room will look like The Little War!”

“Then Sandfly stop the weapon,” the leader replied calmly, emerging from a false vent to his left.

“Not until his wound is managed!” came the defiant reply.

The large girl made a gesture, and the projectiles aimed at them lowered ever so slightly. Logan got to work. Francis’ skin smelled like a Runner’s after a blast had ended their life mixed with the iron smell of boiling blood. The City hissed in time with Francis as Logan moved the heated gun over the gash, burning it shut. Francis might still not make it to Lastday, however, depending on the cubs’ mood. Logan quickly wiped his hands on his own uniform. 

“He not leaking no more. Shutter off!”

The guns were their safety. Giving them up would be suicide. Disobeying the cub pack on their turf would also be suicide. Slowly, holding the gun by the butt in his right hand, he turned the blast setting down.

“There. There, it’s off now.”

“Both guns over to Martha!” the leader demanded, rapping her own chest. Logan obeyed. In a flash, the cubs were on them. The pack held them down and waived some kind of device over his and Francis' left hands. The nerve endings felt as if they’d swollen to the size of melons before exploding with a crackle of intense burning pain.

“Can’t have them finding you two Sandflys until we done with ya!”

When they released him, there was still a dull ache in the center on his palm as if something had charred his flesh, but there was no sign of damage. The appendage looked as it always had. The hell? 

Francis glanced down at his terminal. “We’re off the grid.”

There was a squeaking kind of childish chuckle reverberating off the breathing walls.

“They say Sandflies good,” Martha pointed to Francis. “But this one no tracker man. Not like you.”

Logan was sensing a bargain coming - and he had nothing he could think of to negotiate with. “It’s true. I can see your traps here. They’re quite good. I’m impressed,” He hoped the flattery would help him.

“Sandfly boy came by. You want him back?”

“Yes!”

“Sandfly boy screw up!” She made a face. “He avoid threads, like you, but end up behind the hand door.”

Logan frowned. “Hand door?”

“Door your loud friend tracked on his blip blip,” Martha responded. “Over there.” She then continued. “We want him gone and hand door open. Got in once long ago, and there was food pellets.” Martha licked her lips. “Not much food now. Has not been for weeks.”

Logan thought he might understand. “I open the door. I get food pellets for your pack. I can leave with the boy and my friend?”

Martha shrugged. “We also take guns and blip blips. But, yes, that is deal, Sandfly.”

“And if I don’t come back?”

Martha smirked. “Not a way out over by hand door we see. We be waiting, and we starve. No see Sandman too long, and then we munch, crunch, slurp on him!” The large girl added, pointing to Francis. “And on you when we find you! Cook you with your own gun; we will!”

There was no way he’d let that happen to Francis. “I’ll need some tools,” Logan protested.

Martha considered that. “You can have knife we use for wires. Leave other Sandfly tools here.”

He gripped Francis’s hand. “I’ll come back for you.” Then, to both his partner and the cub pack. “You have my word. Now tell me about the door.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The door Martha had referred to could not have been more obvious to find. The wall the door was embedded in was a startling bright white color. It had stood up to whatever abuse the cubs had tried to inflict upon it with stoic endurance. Compared to the lesser walls adjacent to it, it gleamed with indifference to Cathedral’s unending chaos. Decorating what Logan knew to be an ancient blast door was an ornate picture of a left hand. Embedded in, it was a flower design not unlike the dais at Carousel segmented into yellow, blue, green, red, and - curiously - black.

A yawning pit formed in Logan’s stomach, and he was glad Francis wasn’t here to share in what he was about to attempt. His friend might even try to kill him.

This door was an entrance to White Quadrant One - forbidden territory even to the highest level Supervisors among the Sandmen - and, to save Francis, he had to do something that would mean instant death for him or the boy if they were discovered.

Martha said Jacob had gotten in, though. How?

There was a small indent by the door with another palm on it. A biometric scanner? What would happen if it triggered an alarm? But he was left with little choice. His hand went on the scanner.

“Welcome to Dome One, Logan 5.”

“How do you know me?” he called out the City’s computer.

The door did not answer. It merely slid open, and Logan went through before it changed its mind.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

He always pictured White Quadrant One as being opulent, festooned in shimmersilk couches like in the high-end Love Shops, or painted in a kaleidoscope of bright colors like Rita’s quarters had been. Instead, White Quadrant One had all the charm of the barracks he had once shared with nineteen other children all those years before. The walls were an unimpressive gray-green, and the lights here were the kind of economy lights that were used in back corridors, which caused the odd-shaped room to look sickly.

The only clue to this room’s function was a pair of long-neglected metal benches and the high pitched chirps of computers similar to the one in Central Command coming from some unseen space. Immediately in front of him, Logan could see a kind of airlock with a wheel nearly the size of his chest sealing the door. To his left and right were other, plain doors, but there was one door that seemed to ominously beckon him. Its presence in what would have been the southeast corner caused the room to feel cut off and misshapen. Worst of all, it had another grand left hand on the door; this one with a solid black flower at its center.

He tried the airlock wheel door. With effort, the central crank spun and allowed Logan entrance. Once inside, he saw a strange five by five grid painted on the floor in white paint. The dull throb of machines felt more haunted here than the now muted chirping outside, and Logan knew this room was once terrible. He turned back to see two signs. One was above the door Logan had just come through. It was segmented into two sections he could barely make out. One of the segments said, “welcome;” the other segment: “please wait.” Above the door out to Cathedral, it said, “To Washington Cathedral Central Processing.”

He tried to remember anything about this in the visual books he’d read. There had been plagues and poison air Outside. During the rush for each side to create more soldiers quickly, breeders had been invented, and the production of genetically enhanced youth ramped up. As the wars ebbed, the population was young. The young had been trained to fight, and they became angry at being born into lives of death and chaos. Activists rose to object to wars they did not create and which had been fought for longer than they have lived. Youth, they said, would bring the final lasting peace.

The Little War went nowhere. Despite their numbers, the means of production and power were owned by the old. When the world devolved yet again, those seeking peace and refuge came to the City or other refuges like it. The leadership remembered the Little War and vowed that the natural order would never again become unbalanced by the greed of elders. Then they locked the door as the Earth died a final death of exhaustion and poison. The other projects then winked out of contact, dead from their own failures. The youth had their justice. The City of Domes was all the remained of the world and they had inherited it.

This room was somehow a part of that history, but what part of history? How did it connect?

There was another airlock door across the room. Logan started towards it when he heard an earth-jarring CLANG. The door he had just come through slammed shut!

It was the passionless voice of Mother. “Stand on the grids. One per box. Do not touch the person next to you.”

“Let me go!”

“Stand on the grids. One per box. Do not touch the person next to you.”

“No!”

Only one warning. Just like Nursery. Lasers shot out from the walls, crisscrossing the room, nearly dividing him in half while it divided the room into neat slices along the grid lines. He didn’t even dare to breathe.

There was this scan but more invasive. There weren’t words for the way Mother’s machines indifferently placed pressure on different places across his body, making his skin crawl and his teeth rattle. This Mother wasn’t the one from Nursery that played games with him or cared how hot he liked his food. This one was a nurse sizing him up through the air for the yearly tournament or a child moving to possess him as if he were a toy. Maybe both.

“Identity grid three, two?” the Mother's voice inquired.

“Logan 5.”

“Hold position.”

There was a change in the air. It smelled and tasted like nothing, but Logan could feel his throat seize up, and he started to cough. The lights in the room began to turn a deep, blood red. Instinct made him reach for his gun, only to find the knife there. If it could cut shimmer threads, it could cut - or reflect - nearly anything. Using the knife's surface, he diverted part of the laser containing him to a panel on the wall, sending out a cascade of sparks from where his improvised welding torch began cutting through.

His vision began to blur, but he thought he saw a switch and dove for it around the matrix of lasers. There! Some kind of switch with red lettering! He flipped it without being able to see, hoping he hadn't brought death upon himself. His stomach began to lurch, and he wanted to take a damn nap despite the rush of terror. The laser maze also shut itself off.

The air was beginning to feel better. Logan sunk to the floor - just to rest a moment. What was his next move? It was like thinking after the Sleep Shop drugs; only a dull headache had replaced the bliss. 

That was when the door opened, and there were hands on him, but he couldn’t figure out whose. Whoever they were, though was a blessing because his legs didn’t fully support him anymore.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When full consciousness returned to him, he realized he was being half dragged. It was making the queasiness in his stomach all the worse. The dull headache was also hard to think through.

“Getting better?” The voice was small and young, but brave. The child’s hands were under his armpit and around his back. While progress was slow, Logan saw he was out of the grid room and into another cavernous space. “You’re going to be messed up for a bit.”

True to the child’s words, closing his eyes helped the headache, did nothing for the weakness, and upset his stomach all the more. His mind refused to latch onto words. He wanted to start with appreciation, but all he had was a jumble. “What was?” he finally managed.

“Something meant to kill old people, like you.”

Logan wanted to object. He was years from Lastday! Compared to this child, he must seem ancient.

When the boy stopped to rest and sat down by him, Logan was shocked to see the youth in a gray and black suit like his own. Coherence returned. “Jacob?”

The boy nodded, then continued its earlier explanation. “The room hates old people. It’s meant to give them Lastday, I think, only the settings are for twenty-one, not thirty.”

“The hell?”

Jacob’s reply was a shrug. "That's what was in the book in the bunks. What I could read of it."

Logan took in his surroundings. He could hear rushing water here faintly, and also the lungs of the City taking in and expelling air. There was a throbbing of computers and equipment. This room, though was just a vast nothing. It had the look of a place waiting to fill up with something while the machines of White Quadrant One hummed along. 

“Are you here to take me back?” Jacob 5 asked, voice trembling in fear.

“To take you back? Yes.” Jacob squared his shoulders, but his eyes feared with fear. Logan considered his age. “What module are you on, trainee?”

“D level.” 

That’s why he had run. The beginning of Omnite training, the ability to keep steady biorhythms no matter what combat stress or environmental factors came into play. The ability to beat and take a beating from anyone, or group of anyones, especially those you grew up with. Marches in extremes of heat and cold. Endless nights filled with just enough food and water to keep you effective but not fed. Madness and possible death had won over that inevitably of Sandman's life. 

What had been the point of all that sadism anyway? It’s not like the City’s atmosphere changed temperature. It’s not like Runners put up much of a fight. Other deviants had struggled, but the gun made all the difference there. The only time he saw a lost DS gun was if a Sandmen was overwhelmed in Cathedral or that one-time Carousel had been disrupted. The training had to be a holdover from something else. It was a tradition that could be thrown away, yet it persisted. Why were they torturing this boy? Why had they done that to him?

“Jacob,” he heard himself justify. “You get through it. You live through it. Cathedral is just death. No one lives long enough to leave.”

“What about retrieval?”

“I’m one of the best Sandmen in the City. Like you say, I’m old. I haven’t seen it happen, Jacob. I’m sorry.” Then he realized he had other problems. “What time is it?”

“When I left the bunk room, the clock said 0511.”

Less than three hours. Traversing Cathedral would take at least one, and that was assuming Francis could walk, or the cubs hadn’t resorted to cannibalism.

Thankfully, he was recovering quickly. “We have to get you out of here.” He could see the reluctance. “Please. My partner is out there, and they will kill him if I don’t find food and get out of here. I need your help, Jacob.”

The boy’s nod was imperceptible for a moment before his agreement gained enthusiasm. “The bunk room has a closet. There are pellets there. Lots of them.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Retrieving the pellets was easy. The four bunks had been stripped long ago, but for some reason, the supplies in the closet remained untouched. There were enough food pellets for the whole City, and Logan grabbed a pair of cases while Jacob took two more. Logan noted the labels for “hyposprays,” and “processing manuals,” but the large ones labeled, “green kits,” and “yellow kits,” made a shiver go down his spine when he saw there were no red kits.

“I can’t go back in the way I came,” he explained to Jacob. Jacob then pointed out another door, almost in the corner of the cavernous room. There was a hand on it. This time though, the palm had a flower in all black.

“I can’t open it this way,” Jacob admitted. “It says I don’t have the clearance.”

He’d tempted fate enough in his life by missing the Runners no one was around to see or by spending as much time as he could close to the limit seeking out cubs. Sheila’s regular appearances were even proving useful in keeping his quarters quiet while off-duty. He had wondered quite a bit if he was going insane, but such fears he found kept his mien cloaked in the image of a perfect Sandman, so maybe that low level of dreadful excitement had a use. Going through that door might well destroy it all. For Jacob and Francis’ sake, he’d risk it.

Here it goes. Logan touched the bioscanner. The door slid open.

The first thing he saw were thick pillars of red, gold, and glass. He thought it was glass at least until he touched them and found them to feel strangely metallic under his fingertips. The computers here were nearly deafening, and a camera was monitoring some kind of inaccessible complex with even more memory banks.

The computer had a screen that displayed a scrolling list of names. By each name, there was a percentage.

_Natasha 5 - 10.3%_  
_David 12 - 45.7%_  
_Jessica 6 - 16.2%_

  
Was this some kind of test for Renewal? He knew David 12. He was a younger Sandman - quieter and more focused than some of his peers, but every bit a Sandman. This was some kind of test score. But for what? Should he find his own name?

He wanted to know and, at the same time, feared to have that knowledge. Sandmen did not question the order of things. He was going to leave these all behind him and get everyone home alive.

He shifted the case back to his left hand and tried his right at the door. The door slid open as easily as if it had been his own quarters. It was starting to unnerve him.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

He kept the negotiations short. Two cases of pellets later and Francis was on his way with Logan's gun being returned to him by Martha's people. The other cubs remained uninterested in attacking three people in Sandman garb, even if one of them was more of a half-Sandman. Talking was kept to a minimum on the way back to make for better speed.

The door to civilization shone like the brightest of beacons. Another Sandman team of Strong and Anthony were just outside. The door slid open.

“Hold it!”

The trio stopped. Were there cubs behind them? Logan got out his gun while Anthony went to retrieve Francis.

“What’s the problem?” Logan asked.

Strong pointed to Jacob. “He’s gone feral. Those are the rules.”

“Feral?! How long?” he demanded incredulously.

“A little over 40 minutes. Sorry, Logan.”

Ice cold panic floated over him as he gripped the boy’s hand tighter. “No. No, he saved me! He saved Francis!”

“The Computer makes the rules, not us,” Strong reminded him. "We enforce. We don't question."

“But you’re condemning him to death! For what? 40 minutes?”

“You can file an appeal with your report,” Anthony answered him. “But you can’t stay, and he can’t come.”

“I can’t go to Arcade, then?” Jacob asked.

Logan could feel his heart breaking for the boy. Every fiber in his being warred with itself. He’d broken the rules of being a Sandman and had so far been undiscovered. It wasn't going to last. “Someday, you will," he tried to reassure the boy. "But not today. Today, tomorrow, and until then, you have to live.” Damnit, he somehow remembered children being bigger and more capable than this. It was almost if they were designed to be taken care of. “Go back to Martha. I’ll file the appeal.”

“Will you retrieve me?”

Logan quickly did the math. “I’m too old unless it’s appealed. But if it does, Francis and I owe you one, okay?”

"Logan." Strong reminded him. "We can't keep the gate open!"

An idea occurred to him. "In a moment."

Logan put himself ever so slightly inside the doorway to Cathedral. He pulled the boy in and whispered in his ear. “You are going to grab my gun and knife. Injure me and run. Show Martha what you found, but not a word to the Sandmen even if retrieved. They will kill you. All of them. Do you understand?”

He felt Jacob's body tense, and then the small boy's hand slipped to the knife's handle on his belt. The blade slashed across his hip so quickly he didn't register the wound until Jacob also had his gun. Logan fell back over the threshold and watched with satisfaction as Jacob bolted back the way he came.

"Logan!" Francis called out. Despite his wounded leg, he was the first to place him into a seating position.

"Damn cub!" cursed Anthony as Strong drew his gun.

"No!" Logan held up his hand. "We are Sandmen. We are all trained to survive! You can't fault one of ours for wanting to live!"

"And," Anthony added, moving quickly to Logan's wound. "We need to get these two out of here. It's not worth it, Strong."

Strong grunted once and then slammed the door of Cathedral shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my commenters wondered if Logan saw something he shouldn't have. Why, yes, he did - but he doesn't know why what he saw was important. That will have to wait for another story. Jacob also found out about the City's original age limit, and Logan will be kicking himself for not asking about that at some point.
> 
> Keep the comments coming. I'm in the home stretch here and could use the boost.


	9. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place shortly after the previous chapter. 
> 
> The work has eroded our hero's mental health where rebellion is inevitable. References to "Carousel." As with the previous chapter, Logan does not remember these events during that episode.

The appeal was never far from his mind, and even though the wound had a healing layer of synthaskin adhered to it, Jacob’s fate was eating at him like an infection. He’d replayed the scene in his mind. Had he done enough? Should he have risked more? What was he even doing here back in the main City? 

Talking to Francis about it seemed futile. The other man respected what he had done and even defended Logan’s loss of a weapon. Beyond that, Francis insisted it was all up to the Computer. Last week at a party, Logan had finally had enough to ask why. Francis had looked at him in pale face terror for just a moment. The other party dwellers, including Sheila, had been pulled into the drama of the apparent fight. Rather than compromise himself further, he came here. 

This space felt like his home more than his quarters these days. It had become his solace. 

The roar of the wave pool beckoned him in once again. He had shorts that went to the mid-thigh and nothing else. It was easy to manage if he received an emergency call. He clasped the board in his hands and ran for the water. Once deep enough, he let his legs kick themselves up and he swam with the board out to the waves. 

He’d memorized the pattern quickly after learning the sport. Four quick smaller waves and then a monster - a challenge. Counting the waves and keeping away from the swimmers in the more shallow parts of the inland pool were the biggest challenges.

The latest monster roared over his head, forcing him low for a moment. 

One…

He bobbed to the surface and swam hard for the other side so as to catch the best possible position for the wave’s crest, but something was waiting for him there. An undertow gripped his mind - the roar of the waves melding with the sound of a memory of blaster fire erupting around a dying man.

Two…

He tried to push the memory of it away, but the clamor of his own thoughts pounced from another angle. Shattered glass and the echoed laughter of a fallen Sandman.

He snapped out of it as another wave loomed over him, and he ducked under, back to the sensation of weightlessness. Idly, he wondered, before the War, in Outside, if the waves had been predictable before coming back up to the surface to breathe.

Three…

He turned his head, and he was a White again in Nursery, wanting out. Wanting to see the man staring at him. He could see if it was his father if he could just reach him! He knew it now!

Logan bobbed to the surface of the water, sure at this point, something deep within him had turned murderous against the rest of him. His own mind had put him back there with his own adult thoughts. How in the hell was this happening?!

Four…

He breathed in and out. Control. Control what you can. You managed pain that way. You could refocus that way. He felt his heartbeat slow its pace. He was in the water. This was a good place within the City. The air didn’t smell of throngs of perfumed people or of any number of industrial substances keeping the City from breaking down. The air here was just - air. Air and clean water. 

He scrambled onto the board and tried to right himself to ride the wave - to do as he set out to do. He was back in control. The past could wash away back to where it came from as he bobbed in the water.

The fifth wave was here! 

It was enough. It was like a gun triggered and set his mind on fire once again. Visions of men and women. He shot. Heard them scream in pain and then nothing. People looked at him like he wasn’t human anymore. Maybe he wasn’t if he could turn people’s eyes to glass and fill the air with the smell of charred flesh and blood.

It was the chlorine splashing into his nose that snapped him out of it. How long had the flash been this time? Three seconds? Two? He didn’t take hallucinogens! He didn’t want to relive any of this! Why could he not just leave them in the past; at least out of this pool if not in the past?

There was a voice behind him. It must have been a fan because they knew his name. "Logan? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." He didn't wait for the response before heading out again.

He tried catching the next wave, but the magic for him was gone for the day, and he knew it. 

\-------------------------------------------------

The moments of focus as he made his way back to his quarters were like lights blinking on and off on a computer panel. Seconds of feeling almost focused and aware of his surroundings were interspersed low ebbs where there wasn’t even the energy to think.

So he went back to the old mantra, Control what you can.

The gun was in pieces on his desk. Mindlessly, he took it apart, set out the cleaning cloth, and began the ritual by polishing the barrel. The next moment, he had moved along to cleaning the heads of the power pack and setting them down without remembering he had picked them up. There was this fog over his thoughts, and there wasn’t much available to bring in fresh air to whisk it away.

He got up for a quick break and, before returning to the desk, he caught a glimpse of himself in the decorative mirror on the other side of the restroom door from his work tables. The mirror, made up of a cascade of smaller mirrors stacked upon larger one gave his face a puzzling kind of fractal image of himself surrounded by a single clear one. Even though he wasn’t wearing it, he swore he saw himself in his uniform within the mirror, as if it were a layer beyond clothing.

His door sliding open broke the trance. He saw who it was in the mirror before turning. _Duty._

“Read any good books lately?” he asked his visitor with a smile, feeling control slip back in now that there was a script.

Sheila slid over to him, wrapping a slender arm around his torso. Her hand followed the line of hair on his chest over to his collarbone where she slid her fingernail under it, lightly grazing his skin.

“Ever hear the one about the tin soldier with a missing leg? There’s a part where he nearly drowns, too.”

“But he doesn’t,” Logan noted, reaching behind her to place a hand on her thigh, just below her hips. “Does he?”

Sheila sidestepped him, moving herself to his front while pulling his face in for a kiss. The story would have to keep. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Don’t go.”

“Logan, I have to go at some time.”

“Exactly,” he tried making this sound casual. Sheila was...fun. He wasn’t going to ruin her fun by getting him to need her or anything foolish. But the illusions were never as ominous as when she was here. “Some time. Bring your research up on the viewer. Call for food here. I’ll just sleep.”

“Nuh, uh, sugar,” she informed him. “One of my girlfriends has heard all about you and is coming over for a dinner date tonight - though I never told you that.” She took a small comb out of her belt. “You’ll be fine.”

Logan screwed his eyes shut. “Tomorrow.”

“What’s that?”

Logan flattened himself against the bed. “Have her come by tomorrow. I want you to stay. Today. We don’t have to do anything!” Damn. He sounded desperate. “You work on your work. I file a few reports. We get some drinks and make a day of it.”

“There’s one holoterminal.”

“Then you can have it!” he roared. _Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn!_ He was caring enough about something to argue.

Sheila eyed him. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m tired. That's all. I’m not up for impressing someone new.”

“Sugar, you’re one of the best Sandmen in the city and harder to get a hold of than Francis. Doing what, I have no idea.”

 _Reading history books, surfing, training, filing reports, killing people, and trying to be left alone except when it’s like this!_ Logan’s thoughts pleaded with the ceiling.  
  
Sheila continued. “Whatever it is it’s not enough time off to be healthy for you.” She retrieved a comb from her belt. “Marrianne is healthy for any man to meet.”

“I don’t want to entertain your friends!” He was digging a hole for himself, and he couldn’t stop. 

“What has gotten into you, Logan 5?”

He propped himself up to look at her. “Don’t you have enough of me? Of Sandmen? If my hours aren’t filled with work, you and the other journalists have first access! You get exclusive reports for the stories you write. Your friends come by, and you know what they’re expecting of me or any other Sandman no matter how we feel about them or what kind of day we’ve had!”

“Any normal man would turn in five years of life to be you! Don’t pretend you’re not getting something out of all of this, too, Logan!”

“Well, maybe I’m not getting what I want! Or need.” Sheila stared at him, incomprehensibly. He was somehow too far gone to stop. “Maybe normal would be better! Maybe normal wouldn’t be watching a City that doesn’t condemn children to death or going to a party after seeing it done.”

Shelia examined him. Finally, she just took her comb in her hand. “Well, this isn’t what anyone needs from a Sandman. ‘ _Don’t go_ ,’” she mocked. “How about this? Find me when you have fun and exciting stories again. No one wants to read or have pillow talk about wild cubs!”

And with that, Sheila was out the door.

He wished he could lock that damn thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter deals with Shelia, it's time to go into my thought process on how Logan's very personal life works.
> 
> In "Night Terrors," Logan mentions not caring about anyone other than himself when he lived in the City. Yet, we see him getting dramatically weak in the knees when Sheila makes an appearance. It can't be too exclusive with her though because when "Jeri 4" shows up to seduce him he's not surprised or objecting to someone in his quarters waiting to make love to him even knowing she's not being honest with him in the slightest.
> 
> Furthering the mystery was when during "The Innocent," when Logan - even when it was imperiling his life and the lives of his friends - *insisted* you had to get to know someone first before being attracted to them. There are further echos of this in "Crypt," when Sylvia puts the moves on him and he doesn't lay that kind of eyes on her for a second. Other opportunities ranging from Jessica in a bathtub to a young Kim Catrall with a plunging neckline also present themselves. Even in dreamscapes and in places where thought becomes real, the only one around is Jessica. Okay, yes, and Francis/other Sandmen, but they aren't there in the good way. 
> 
> Yet, when we get to "Carousel," he's all of a sudden a ladies man with a reputation - and he's eyeing girls with Francis. 
> 
> But then we're back to "Night Terrors," where that light, sweet, romantic kiss we were waiting for the whole damn show would not have been out of place for a pair of young teens first experimenting with romance. 
> 
> And then there's Francis acting like he's enacting a 23rd century PG-13 version of "Fatal Attraction." (If anything, movie Francis is even MORE like a killer ex.) My roommate watching "Capture," for the first time looked over to me and went, "They totally slept together." Given how the City sees sexuality in the book and movie, I have to agree. Still, he's not checking men out either, including Francis. (70s TV likely would not have gone there anyway.) 
> 
> If I were in Mr. Harrison's shoes I would have been tempted to strangle someone while trying to figure this out in order to convey it, or, more likely, I'd take it out of their hands and place it in my own as much as possible.
> 
> Fortunately, science has marched on and there's a theory I'm working off of. Book Logan was canonically bisexual. Movie Logan is heavily implied to be heterosexual. TV Logan is something else entirely - an asexual in a world that has no healthy concept for asexuality and is, in fact, more oversexed than our own world. When he checks out girls, it's in front of Francis and maybe a bit too dramatically. When he's on his own, he has a low drive for anyone. He is, however, very drawn to Jessica to the point an android bothered to notice (Rem even ships it.). His relationship with Francis is also very much like a bad divorce with Francis being the not-over-it ex who loathes seeing his with the new partner, implying things got "attached," there, too, on some level.
> 
> When he is given the time it takes his time to develop romantic feelings, he does, but even then he struggles for even the most basic language to describe being drawn to Jessica. It is as if, for him, the word "love," has become corrupted and he wants something like it to offer her but without the connotations of Love Shops and other devalued terminology. (Jessica has no such issues.) After talking with Kate, a friend who is more in the know on this part of the spectrum, what seems to fit all evidence parameters is gray asexuality. Gray asexuals fall in love or discover an attraction for people very rarely. 
> 
> My best thought is his attraction to Francis was mostly one-sided and ill-timed. At first, Logan was drawn to Francis. As time went on, Francis began seeking Logan, maybe not for romantic reasons, but certainly a kind of emotional validation. His attraction to Jessica was not romantic for a long while (as TV shows and the City of Domes works), but he does take comfort in her emotional support and begins to rebuild himself around that and the hope for Sanctuary. His attraction to Sheila or anyone else in the City was part of a job that expected him to represent the City in sometimes very personal ways and a way to keep up a facade of normalcy.
> 
> Your thoughts are, as always, welcome.


	10. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final choice made and our favorite Runner team meets one another. Mostly, this takes from Act 1 of the pilot episode by William F. Nolan, Saul David, and Leonard Katzman and expands on Logan's thoughts, blending the story you have read into the rest of the narrative.

The two of them sat for another Carousel. The roar of the crowd threatened to pull Logan out of his thoughts, which, he realized, might be the point of the whole damn spectacle.

He saw Sheila briefly across the assembly. They hadn’t spoken in months, and there was another Sandman he couldn’t quite make out the face of with her. Jealousy was considered second only to Running in terms of problematic things people did to provoke Sandman's attention as a fully grown citizen.   
For some reason, he wanted to care that Sheila preferred to spend time with someone else. He wanted her to care enough just to look up and wave at him here in his usual seat. It was so damn strange. He wanted to care enough to care about her ignoring him right now, and he just didn’t. It was like being back in Nursery, seeing the world through the glass, and not being able to get to anyone that felt real.

Francis saw it, too. “Cheer up. There’s someone I want you to meet after this.” Francis always did “have someone to meet after this.” 

Come to think about it, when was the last time he went looking for companionship on his own? The only times he could recall was when Zoe ordered him to, and he’d first name on a list in the Circuit two nights in a row. Then there was that time with Francis he kept wanting to scrub from his memory. Sandman allure had taken care of the rest.

In less than three years - the years were going faster now - it would be the pair of them down there. Before that time though? He and Francis would be taken off the main duty roster. They’d be split apart to train new Cadets. After that, a year of Supervisor duty and then he’d be ordered downstairs to train those in Level Two.

He’d be asked to beat children. To drag in prisoners to the unit so the young ones could learn to kill. All for the good of the City of Domes. He put his head back and closed his eyes as if catching a nap. Sheila was right. It was a charmed life he had led. Would he want the existance he had back again in Renewal? 

_No._

The answer surprised him. _Why?_

The pre-show was a comedy tonight. The audience roared with laughter, but Logan's mind was far from mirthful.

The better question was, what was he living to do? To repeat the same cycle of what had been done to him and those before him countless times for the last two centuries? When did it end? Was there a plan, or was this a never-ending ride, going round and round and never stopping its momentum?

Even though he sinned by questioning the City, he had, without a doubt, lived for the City. Every action. Every thought he had ever had was tinged with the City because Sandmen were the City.

There was applause. The end of the show. He cheered on his feet for a performance he hadn’t watched, because it was one more thing that was expected for Logan to do out of civic pride.

In enduring that dedication, he had made a life that was the City ideal - and all it had made him was miserable.

“Good performance,” Francis prompted. When had Francis’ enthusiasm for everything become annoying?

“Yes,” he lied. “But I couldn’t follow the plot.” He nodded to a random woman. “Was too busy following the girl three in from the right.” Francis admired his choice with an appraising eyebrow, and Logan realized that, at some point, lying to Francis had become as much reflex as shielding your eyes when exposed to bright light.

The dais raised from the circular stage for another night. Soon out would come the civilians in white, guided by the Sandmen in black. Round and round it would all go again - and he had less than three years until he’d cover himself in a black suit and white mask unless something happened.

Was there another way? Could you Renew if you died by accident or attack? What about suicide? If Renewal was the only way, then who was replacing those lost people? Were they being replaced at all? Had they been Renewed in the Sleep Shops?

Those readying themselves for Carousel filed out. Their heads were slightly bowed in ritual. They did this so they would all be reborn just o go back to what they experience here before. Logan had seen enough of the City of Domes to know it wasn’t heaven on Earth, nor had incentive to be. Things broke and stayed broken. There were murders, rapes, suicides, accidents, madness, abandonment, and, above all, not a lot of thought.

The left hands of those below them raised.

Francis finally noticed him. “Exciting, isn’t it, Logan?” He wanted to give him another lie, but his thoughts were too stuck in the morass. Francis probed him. “What is it?”

“Why do some people try to escape Carousel? Why do they become Runners?” He could use one to chase right now to break his thoughts out of this spiral.

“They’re sick,” was his partner’s answer. “Why else should anyone try to escape sleep? Birth for a death; one for one. It’s the natural way.”

He suddenly realized with an investigator's mind, none of this made sense. Where was the proof? Wasn’t the world overcrowded at one point? If one for one was natural when had it become natural? If the natural order was one-for-one, then Runners threw off the count. Those he and Francis killed were not Renewed, but that would mean one less in the City overall. So, it wasn’t ever going to be one-for-one. The question now was if it was ever actually was or would be one-for-one?

The lights were shifting — time for another tact. “Francis, have you ever seen anyone renewed? Born into another body?”

“We’ve been over this before.” Francis griped.

He was sick of all of it. Sick of the City. Sick of this pageant. Sick of Francis’ thick-headed loyalty. Maybe it just happened. Maybe he had been ill all along. “We’re friends. I thought I could talk to you," he sulked.

“We don’t question the order of things! We’re Sandmen. Our job is to hunt down Runners and terminate them.”

Why did it always come back to Runners with Francis? What about the other cases? The cultists? The domestic disturbances? The lost children? The criminal enterprises that tried to spring up among the City’s population? Why was it about death?

The anti-gravity field reached the floor, and those on Lastday began to rise - higher and higher - to the chats of “Go!” and “RENEW!” The latter was so loud because it was coming from his partner - his only friend - being on his feet chanting louder than anyone else in the stadium. 

As they flamed out, one by one, he began to wonder when the inevitable chase would begin, just to get him out of this hell. That’s when the terminal buzzed with a message from David 12:

_Alert, Runner headed for Quadrant 4. Intercept._

He vaguely heard Francis saying, “Let’s go, Logan,” but he was already on his feet and running.

\-------------------------------------------------------

The chase hadn’t been long, but it covered a lot of ground. Francis had gone one way, and he had gone the other. The tracker indicated that the Runner and someone else - possibily a hostage or help - was in the room with him. He flipped open the door and gave the customary cry.

“Runner!”

But there was a responding command, so earnest it cut to his core. Her arm stretched out. “Logan, don’t shoot!”

His hands felt sweaty as he moved into the room. There was only supposed to be the Runner here and a stranger. The woman in pink knew him. Somehow, he knew she knew him, but how? He didn’t recognize her. Was she undercover? There was fear in her eyes, but courage and determination, too. “You know my name?” he asked, uncertain what to do or what kind of test this was.

The woman in pink nodded a sliver of a nod. He watched her square her shoulders and come towards him and his gun. The Runner wasn’t forgotten, but he was much less interested in him right now.

“Logan 5,” she replied simply, turning more towards him, working to keep her voice steady.

“How do you know?”

She started towards him, slow and steady, leaving the Runner in the back in his sights. “We’ve been watching you. You’re not like the rest of the Sandmen. You've been asking questions.”

_Who the hell? We?_

Many thoughts crashed through his mind of the various sins, minor and egregious he’d committed as part of his work. He had been found out, and this was a test, but who was giving it and to what ends? Who was this woman that knew him? But he knew the right answer. He hoped he could say it with enough conviction. “Sandmen don’t question the order of things!”

She was to his side. A solid position to grab a gun from to make a shot go wild. This Runner - or her convictions - was worth her death. As much as he wanted to keep the Runner in his sights, the woman in pink wasn’t just another Runner, and his eyes were drawn to hers. “Logan,” she pleaded. “Carousel is death! No one is Renewed.”

The Runner stepped forward, finding his voice. “When you’re thirty, you’ll die, too!”

Her voice added information. “Unless you run for Sanctuary.”

Dying for the City was the least of his worries. It wasn't a selling point, but the word they used - Sanctuary - the name sounded familiar. There was something about it in his history books - a rival project to the Domes - presumed destroyed. But here, this woman dangled the idea of such a place in front of him with his conviction already shaken. “You’re saying there is Sanctuary?” he found himself asking, wanting to believe.

“Yes,” He could feel the heat of her relief. She believed whatever this was and wanted to believe in him. “Outside.”

But it couldn’t be real! He tightened his grip on the gun. _Keep focused on the Runner!_ But his eyes kept wanting to be on her. “There’s nothing Outside! The air was poisoned in the nuclear war!”

“Logan! That’s part of the lie!” She beseeched him. “To keep us in the Dome City.” Logan felt the breath he was holding escape him. As the woman in pink continued, he could feel his slippery hands begin to lower his gun. “It’s all right. The air’s clear now.”

The footfalls behind him caught up before he could think to present himself more favorably to Francis. Damn it! He wanted more on this!

“You caught him,” Francis reminded him. “Terminate him, Logan!”

He wasn’t sure what to do. “Francis, wait! Listen.”

Francis flattened his plea like a hydraulic press. “And the girl. She must have been helping him.”

Another chance. He tried again through dry lips, backing up slowly and putting his body between the civilians and Francis. “They say people can live - past thirty - outside. In Sanctuary.”

“They’re lying to you.” Francis scoffed, not even looking at him and looking through them.

 _Damn him!_ Would it kill Francis just _once_ to listen?! Had he ever really listened in any situation that didn’t involve killing or competition? The Runner was turning to bolt, but Logan found himself not giving a damn. Terminating him didn’t matter! If the air remained poisonous to breathe, then there was little point to the Sandmen! It suddenly made more _sense_ for there to be real, breathable air Outside. Why couldn’t Francis _**think?!**_ “But what if there is Sanctuary? And Carousel is a fraud?!”

“Logan, you have a job to do. You’re a Sandman. Terminate them!”

The Runner bolted. Francis fired, sending the Runner to fall into a burning heap. Something snapped in Logan’s soul. As Francis turned the gun on the woman. Logan lashed out, slamming the side of his weapon into the back of Francis’ skull. His only friend - one he had trusted, loved, loathed, was scared to death of - lay unconscious at his feet. When Logan looked up, he noticed the woman’s eyes were steady upon him and still filled with warmth, courage, and hope. He absorbed that energy as his eyes wandered between her and Francis.

He always wondered what would do him in. A cub? A crazed person on a terrible combination of drugs? A Sandman finding the wrong video recording? Carousel? He had even considered doing the job himself before. But this was how he, Logan 5, was going to die. Running. Running from Francis Outside and away from this place. 

When he found his voice, it sounded like a small child’s in his own ears. “He’ll know you.” The tug-of-war between the woman and Francis, indeed his old life, ceased as he declared in a tone of shock and complete commitment. “We’re both Runners now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first mutli-chapter solo fic and I can't thank enough people. Bless those 38 hits, 2 kudos, and 2 comments. You have been the lifeblood of the project. Thank you to the Logan's Run FB groups, my husband and my roommate who let me hook them on this show. Many thanks to John Harley who informed me about production order from the episodes as well as source material from the UK. It will be utilized.
> 
> I have more planned in the future, but the TNG and DC comics characters have been thoroughly patient with my dear Logan and would like to be in some stories I write going forward.
> 
> If you want more Logan's Run, please write it yourself and link me. (We can be our own little writing staff!) or feel free to post comments filled with tantalizing ideas. I'm not done here yet, but if you want to build on this, drop me a line.
> 
> Keep Running, Runner! (And maybe spin that one Cult track for me.)

**Author's Note:**

> So the basics: In the book, everyone dies at 21. In the book and movie, they move the needle to 30. The Boomers got older and there's enough underage sex in the novel to fill an archive which would have been bad to have in visual media. (I swear, it's good! The squick is part of the point of all this; in that the setting is terrible.)
> 
> All 3 depictions of Logan are very different. The book's Logan was an amazing, nearly psychopathic anti-hero. The TV show's Logan was a caring, soft-spoken, and thoughtful cop who was very good at his crappy job. The movie's Logan embraced the crapsack world he was in and its rules until it did not return the favor.
> 
> "Ten" takes place when Logan is in the Level 2 Nursery, where he says he was raised in the pilot. He's about 3 to 4 years old or "yellow," by the age standards of the City of Domes.
> 
> I will truly be amazed if anyone reads this, considering the fandom for this show is as old as I am, but characters do what they want, and Logan and Jessica do not give up. The series is available in all its late 70's charm on Amazon Prime for about $20.


End file.
